Unlike the golden giant of Westminster frame,
With clock-tower-bell resounding source- to-mouth;
Here, damned shape in summer’s din rises
A reminder in turn, whose flame
Imprisoned life, and her name. ‘community’.
From the hollow windows
Sun sheets streak between;
Her papered walls not bare
The area now it frames.

‘How did this happen, and never happen again’ cried one
With grey eyes. ‘we will do better, do right’
Justice for those who didn’t breath free.
The wretched refuge of the city’s poor.
Where now, the homeless, can they be safe?
On England’s green and pleasant shores.

Journalist concerned with the strange and longwinded.

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