View From A Bridge Poem by Angela Wybrow

Outside the Festival Hall, folk are sitting around,
Beneath parasols of red, yellow, orange, and brown.
Waterloo Bridge is all choked up with red buses.
Beneath my feet, a yellow speedboat now rushes.

Across the bridge, youngsters scoot and skate.
I see some buskers: catchy music, they create.
Atop Somerset House, I can see the huge clock.
By the pier, I can see tourist boats ready to dock.

A row of flags flutters in the soft, summer breeze.
The river down below is lined with rustling trees.
With bright banners, the Festival Hall is adorned.
In the distance, I see the iconic dome of St Paul's.

Down on the Embankment, cars are nose to tail:
Their crawling pace is like that of a garden snail.
An ambulance rushes by, using its blues and twos.
On the pier below, for boat trips, there are queues.

In to Charing Cross Station, there now pulls a train.
Dotted around, on the horizon, are towering cranes.
‘The Shard' building is now almost to its full height.
The view from this bridge is such a wonderful sight.

Often, when I cross this bridge, I pause for a while:
This amazing view is guaranteed to make me smile.
One of my favourite views ever, is this very skyline,
And while I am here, this wonderful view is all mine.