Cobbledock Lane Poem by Peter Jones

It was well enough done in Cobbledock Lane:
Breathing the grey waked morning.
And the barrels, kicked from the dray
spoke rebellion:
Passing shop windows dressed with baking ladies,
grown old in smiling.

The untiring bay sang its psalm
Through the gusted rigging.
And Spray-salted light
Marked time with the wefting hurry-scurry trains
Sneaking by.

This never-mind day,
Caught in the mirrored canvas,
Ran out to the salt-marsh,
Where the black horse statues stood
Upon the prize of days now past
Amid the unwrapped drizzle...
In all not much
but well enough done.