The lady sings the blues
The Lady of Sings.
A woman opened her umbrella made of dreams,
painted bluebells, buttercups tulips and rosemary
Now her flowers needed sunlight and the sight of
blue sky. She walked slowly eyes to the ground
looked for horse manure, which is not easy to find
in a time dominated by cars and motorbikes
At the railway station she tripped on shoes not fit
for cobbled streets; trains stood idle, she inhaled
diesel fumes despite the fact that the line had been
electrified years ago. Locomotive drivers on strike,
sat in a café across the road drank black coffee
bore an expression of steely determination, but
they were worried and feared for their jobs,
the line has been privatized, always bad news
The lady didn't find what she was looking for, but
the walk had done her flowers well; she put her
umbrella in the chicken coop.
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