Walking against the rain,
Hand gripped around yours.
Rushing across the street,
Dodging traffic and meandering pedestrians,
We reach the bridge.
Below the dull waters slowly flow,
As ducks bob for algae.
The river runs for miles,
Before it reaches us.
It’s rippled and trickled,
And gushed to us;
And will continue for miles more.
A speeding cyclist makes you jump,
And I laugh, but onward we walk.
Past the pub already filling,
With working class men who’ll curse our youth.
