The buildings stand high like mountains,
except more defined,
countless floors down,
I stand, blind.

The cars creep past,
a continuous stream,
whilst I wait to cross,
forever it seems.

Times square shines bright,
but all I see,
is the homeless man,
made bed next to me.

I stand in my anorak,
curly hair holding the smell,
how long shall I stay?
only time will tell.

I jangle my few cents,
in my trouser pocket,
I repeat the name,
as if I forgot it.

I left all I knew,
just for you,

my little English home,
and exquisite British tea,
all for you to fall in love with me.

I stick out like a strand of grey hair,
among all the hustle,
of times square.