London in July.

The bolster on the bed
Had fallen through the head board,
Which meant the lonely pillows
Had more labour than they hoped for,
And the two shapes oh so weary
Found less peace in their evening,
And did not enjoy the night
Or the next morning’s reason
As they were woken by the bad news
Of blasts all over town,
Which meant they had to rise again
Until the light changed round,
But their rest was less than easy,
As the heat condensed their stay
To a shared and soaking summer night
Of prayers for yesterday.