The trailing ring of a trams bell
competes with a guitars strum,
soon the old GPO tolls in swell
while chatter of voices to hum.

Tables and chairs out at lunch
the parking here closed by six,
public holiday less of a crunch
echo of voices in phone sticks.

The hum of trams hover upon
child after a treat whines loud,
toward Autumn grey, roof wan
rain gathering to a wry shroud.

As trams echo carries on past
upon their patina a clatter too,
languages of street flying fast,
barista stirs his caffeine brew.