Poetry Thursday

From Preludes, T.S. Eliot

I

The winter evening settles down
with smells of steaks in passageways.
Six o'clock.
The burnt-out ends of smoky days.
And now a gusty shower wraps
The grimy scraps
Of withered leaves about your feet
And newspapers from vacant lots;
The showers beat
On broken blinds and chimney pots,
And at the corner of the street
A lonely cab-horse steams and stamps.

And then the lighting of the lamps.


(I will post II, III, and IV the next 3 Thursdays)