Nocturne (In Times Gone By)
Outside, the night sucks street lamps like orange lozenges
And the moon creeps slowly over rooftops.
Magic permeates the air.
Was there ever a time
When iron frogs were worth a King's ransom
And little elves wept by the desolate bus-stops?
A lonely policeman cycles away
And grieves for the passing of childhood,
While a poet loiters in the churchyard, drinking a can of beer.
poem by John Thorkild Ellison
Added by Poetry Lover
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