****** on by bonny dogs
and soaked by the fog
that clipped back the grass round its base
and the face of it
was a lamp that lit up the dark.
Standing soulfully lame
with a name quite generic
and in a cobbled street so specific to the
Lancashire town.

As night comes down across the Pennines
and the lads on the late shift go back down the mines
the warm light remembers more times than it cares too
now old
past its prime
it stands a monument to the time
when ladies in bustles
bustled past
casting shadows it seemingly grows
or is that my imagination?