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London Bridge
To wake beneath a bridge, absurd
Understanding not a single word
Of language lacking meter, grammar
An ageing cuckolds pleading stammer
Sunrise denied sweet fogs corona
Beneath this bridge in Arizona
No clip-clop of carts passing hoofs
Nor chimney plumes o’er distant roofs
My pen long dry, my muse aroused
I roamed the streets and slowly browsed
The faces and the odd attire
No sign of Big Bens silent spire
Our muse laments how history crept
O’er yellowed pages as we slept
©1/6/2023
Shakespeare in 2023 Poetry Contest
Copyright ©
John Lawless
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