hammersmith bridge

Resplendent in green and gold,

The silver-grey river ripples calmly below

A bright red bus stands prominent,

Amid the steady stream of cars

A lone jogger enjoys the cool spring air

The floodlights of Fulham’s football field,

Are visible to the east

On the opposite bank, two striking domes

Pierce the low-lying clouds

A man-driven mower,

Interrupts the hum of traffic, and leaves

The distinctive smell of cut grass in its wake

A solitary boat upsets the water

Where a family of ducks frolic freely

Pigeons perch on the river wall,

In anticipation of flyaway crumbs

The sun tries to break out,

But is unsuccessful in its attempt.

The bridge’s rickety walkway

Exposes flashes of river below

The structure shakes softly from the constant traffic,

For which it was never intended

To the west,

Once tall on the skyline,

A lowly church steeple, overshadowed

Houseboats relax on the northern bank

A string of canoes glide elegantly past

Cricketers play on the green of St Paul’s,

Their stark uniform unmistakable through the trees

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