Suburban streets soaked with rain
Self-same journey once again
Along the backs of terraced homes
Council schemes, steeples, domes

This London rush. What's it for?
Another day just like before
Nothing like you likely planned
Then there is the tiny hand

That reaches up to hold on you
Too young to question what we do
If it's madness. If it's sane
Life gone on commuter trains

For her it's simple, not a muddle
She does not step around the puddle
That can and does reflect her face
That in its turn reflects your grace

Suburban streets soaked with rain
Self-same journey once again.