The sun shines down on the cobblestone ground at one thirty.
Cars, footsteps, and a concuffany of conversation.
No scent of a nostalgic history or,
An old business too old to modernise.
Only old faces in a quiet random corner or
The side street musicians echoing
Molly Malone or the rare old times.
A new town built on a forgotten cobblestone past.
Indecisive present, undisclosed future
Coming towards a crossroad.
What part of the future can I stop?
Where in tomorrow’s world will I stay?
A wanted grip of a forgettable past.
A fleet of thoughts in an endless mind
© Copyright 2017 colin watson. All rights reserved.
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