Poetry

Hasty

The Hasty Clock In the early, blush‑gold hour of the train station, a figure darts, a wheeze through the queue, her perfume a rogue bloom in a corridor full of clipboard‑tucked commuters. She hurries,

Rosemary's Baby

In the dimming light of a London afternoon, Rosemary cradles her child, a fragile dawn, Her once-bright hair now veiled in violet doom, A whispered promise of silence in every drawn ring. The air

The King's Speech

The King's Speech In the hush of the Great Hall, the weight of the crown settles on a single voice— a voice that once trembled like a candle flame in the cold of a

Lobby

Upon the Lobby In the great glass‑bound arms of a London tower, the lobby breathes a quiet, humming stillness— the footfall of commuters read in the polished floorboards, as though each step were a

Kind Hearts and Coronets

Kind Hearts and Coronets In the quiet, silver‑gleaming halls of Greswell‑field, A thousand silks and dust mingle where secrets are sealed. The earl’s grand marble steps echo with an old hymn – “Kind hearts

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