Above London, the sky is all the same colour

Never ending, greyer than grey

An uncertain breezes, drifts, lingering,

Hesitates, as if unsure whether it might pass.

The air is heavy, heady, with angry words

That went unsaid. The pent up fury

Is brewing over the chimney pots

Although the bright washing laughs

Strung from window to window

It doesn’t share the despair over the

Too grey sky that glowers

Like an angry headmaster’s frown.


Rose Staveley-Wadham