It was dawn on the river Thames

A heavy gray fog rested like a shroud

On the old sluggish artery.

Here a person can see the dull dreams

Of a people moving across centuries.

 

There are times when ghosts

Rise from the London mist

To chide this city’s new ambitions.

Cities are this way-like barren trees

That sprout anew in spring

But age and die all the same.