<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=570551" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Return Of The Telegram Boy circa 1962</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">Sunday mornings of my youth flash back<br>White helmet, yellow gloves, motorbike all red<br>Delivery for the London Docks pier nine.<br>Deserted streets, silent, no traffic, nobody.<br>Pass high brick walls, windows set high, <br>Filthy dirty glass, the ruins made by bombs<br>Scar the dockland landscape of Limehouse, <br>China Town source of much imagination<br>Deserted on this Sabbath day of rest.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">So here I stand, returning to my past<br>The Rotherhithe steps are all that’s left<br>With their tiled lavatorial walls<br>All else is new and vibrant, stunning.<br>Through Narrow Street to the Isle of Dogs<br>Unrecognisable, here the Thames becomes transformed<br>The sun sets on the skyline, the scene majestic<br>My memories fade in this picture of beauty <br>Autumnal colours, light the sky I am transformed</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Waterfront houses line the farther bank<br>Whilst here the cycles move with ease<br>Joggers pant their way along the waters edge, <br>Lovers sit beneath the giants of glass, <br>Soft romantic light shines up from the pavement<br>Wine is sipped, waterbus stir the river<br>The transformation is for real, Cinderella<br>You are at the ball and the clock has stopped.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=James+Tipp">James Tipp</a><div class=q> <img src="https://www.citatepedia.ro/g/32share.png" style="float:left" alt="Share"> <script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=570551" data-title="Return Of The Telegram Boy circa 1962 de James Tipp" data-description="Sunday mornings of my youth flash back White helmet, yellow gloves, motorbike all red Delivery for the London Docks pier nine. Deserted streets, silent, no traffic, nobody. Pass high brick walls, windows set high, Filthy dirty glass, the ruins ma..."></div> </div> </div>

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