Medieval London

The prologue was over
We all were left on anticipation’s fog
The mist who ate the soul’s clover
slowly turned us to smog

Deep in the heart of the town
the clouds choked on their grayness
he who is still smiling, the clown
Lost his tears in the city’s haziness

Pregnant with the rivers waters
The city abounds in vapors
Beneath the grounds, silent slaughters
In the sky, smoke of tapers

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