Ralph McTell, a UK legend singer songwriter, has written a new verse for his famous Streets of London song. In these tough times I think it should go viral:

In shop doorways, under bridges
In all our towns and cities
You can glimpse the makeshift bedding
From the corner of your eye
Remember what you're seeing
Barely hides a human being
We're all in this together
Brother, sister, you and I

This is
a new kind of
silence that
asks you to fill it
this time with
YOUR true
wishes

This kind of silence does not
tolerate the neon light

This kind
of silence
was waiting
for your gaze

don't be afraid

Between two extremes,
Two poles of universe
Heaven and Earth
The void is the messaging conduit
The breathe which retains
Middle of breathe in and breathe out
The void is the calm realism
The subtle connectedness of love
The gentle glory of balance
The void fills it all..

Is it any wonder that black cats
perch on pale shingles
or that the moon returns each
evening against a stark navy sky

What’s it like to be the center of attention?

I exist only in shadows
and bloom viciously
against the wall at parties.
A secret garden.

Poisonous frogs
stick out like candy against
forests of green.
They dare to be noticed as
unapologetic warnings.

If only I could feel the spotlight
burn a hole through my lonely chest
just once. Like rays of sun
that exist just for my well being.

How does it feel to be someplace you don’t belong?

Cancer grows
multiplies
splits apart, doubled over
a thousand times
with little regard for it’s unwelcomed
stay.
Fearless.

I spiral down vacant bottles
only to shatter through the bottom of each one
in the hunt for genuine human connection.
An insecurity that is nothing but confident in itself.
I crave to be noticed.

Is it any wonder that black cats
perch on pale shingles?

Eyes close in stupor,
Her keen eyes catch the caper;
Swing from love to sleep!

She beat me to the seat
and left me standing in
the aisle.

In a while or wile of Wednesday
there's nothing I could do to stop
her racing through the tube door and
getting there before me.

I'm slowing down
and
like London Town
I'm going down the
tubes.

Shooting glances at
commuters in trances
it seems they're all asleep.

I'm not
got my eyes open wide
to let the day step inside

and that's the best I can do.

She still beat me and that gets to me,
history
repeating
like radish for tea on a Sunday
except it's Wednesday
and so not fair.