In the merry month of May, in a morn by break of day, I walk along the bruised sidewalks, flipping into cut up alleys. I pass by the shops in this sweetest of months and watch the young couples at their games. And games they are as the young couples sit and chat about nothing, holding hands and leaning close.
In this most merry month, I walk through the meadows. Well, meadows of my mind. There's none of that here, in this sweetest of cities. Especially not at the break of day. But I supposed that's the best time of day to find a meadow. In a city like this.
In May, the morning month, I walk along and peep at the animals, fighting each other for the steel garbage bins along crumbling brick walls. Rabid. Wild. Abandon.
In the merry month of May, in a morn by break of day, I walk along these city streets until I am home.
This one's for Sunday Scribblings and Carry on Tuesday.