In the London fog she walks like light
Light as soft as the lofty stars
Dreams are haunted Liverpool ships
Herdwick sheep bleating by Lake Windermere
She sounds the bells of destiny
Oscar Wilde with a black cane
Morose of Byron
Her arms are blue opium alleys
Her kiss the ice of a pirates treasure

I move toward her
Chills of nights silk
We will never grow old
Back to our graves we must go
Our bed is the ancient mariner
Under the North Sea lovers laugh
Wales moans like Dylan Thomas
We have raged against the night
The fog of London is my delight

Joseph Narusiewicz

http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/london-fog-3/