WINTER IN LONDON – A poem by Thomas Maye-Banbury

Grey gold disc in misty skies,
The winter falls before my eyes,
The snow glides down on buildings tall,
The wind it whips across the mall,

People wrapped up on the underground, Like ghosts drifting by without a sound,
Big Ben chimes the midnight hour,
The London air has all turned sour,

A boat upon the Thames alone,
An old man struggles home,
The homeless by a bonfire stand,
Upon a dirty plot of land,

The London Eye is still and dark,
A swing is creaking in the park,
A shadow moves behind the trees,
A dog howls upon the breeze,

The British Museum locked for the night,
A security guard with a flashlight,
Dead mummies in glass cases stare,
Statues of ancient gods glare,

The bloody tower covered in snow,
A freezing wind begins to blow,
A shivering guard blows in his hands,
As outside Buckingham Palace he stands,

A blizzard of snow in Trafalgar Square,
Leaves fly up into the air,
Lord Nelson upon his column high,
Reaching nearly to the sky,

London never seems to sleep,
Though the night is dark and deep,
Light creeps over Hyde Park lake,
As the dawn begins to break.