London is a city of ghosts

Lurking around corners — on groggy
gas lit nights, whispering death
steals into this age of the machine.
See the tender white crosses-row-on-row.
Oh! so-many windswept nights of swirling snow;
creaking branches catch a whiff of Lady Fortune’s
ill-luck in this unpleasing freezing breeze,
and pleased, I was, immeasurably,
more fool me!

Old Lady Darkness — with her fondest acolytes: death and birth,
and thoughts of these, gather on this drear black night.
I possess all the gross infirmities of mind
and soul and heart that leave me gasping here
as the false lucidity starts
of unkept promises and broken hearts.

On these deep-black nights,
sentient beings’ abiding grief
holds their tongues in check
as they cling to this merest
tincture of belief.

?si=7kWX3DUdDCWbcIiZ