Sprung between the cracks of the slabs in Peckham Rye
the Sprigs of Empire Mothers defy a concrete sky,
here where Blake saw Angels and Shepherds quenched a thirst
the once downtrod are rising and learning to come first.
From Terraces and Towers confined and stacked unseen
they dare to poke their hopeful buds to where they've never been,
while Highwaymen of history defoliate their Streets,
they terraform new futures beneath angry stomping feet.
English Roses vased and rootless look so pretty on the shelf
smooth stemmed close bred and clueless, disadvantaged by good health.
I'll take the Slumflower bloomers unburnished by the Sun
Cinderella's who dance shoe-less running rings round everyone.