Lowry - Poem by Ruth Walters
Old world shops, grey bridges, dark pools
muddied with people, the commoners.
Cap in hand folk, anonymous and cold.
Cold cheeks, cold hands, cold feet, cold toes,
waiting for jobs, for some money.
Here on the canvas they wait forever,
cute little people depicted in the artist's hand,
daubed on a dull day in shades of colour.
Step into their lives, feel their pain,
let the paint wash over you.
Lowry, I feel your rebel soul
I sense your anger, frustrations
and empathy for the workers ___
and as I gaze upon the canvass - awe struck
I hope I understand.
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