Lowry
Old world shops, buses, grey bridges, dark pools,
muddied with little people, the commoners,
cap in hand folk, anonymous, tough but cold.
Cold cheeks and hands and feet and toes,
waiting for jobs, for their money.
Here within the canvas they shall wait forever,
cute little people, depicted in the artists style,
daubed on a dull day in shades of grey.
Step into their lives, feel their pain,
let the paint include you in their misery.
Lowry, I feel your rebel soul deep within me
as I stare upon your artists hand.
I feel your anger, frustrations and empathy
for the people, your comrades,
and I hope I understand.
poem by Ruth Walters
Added by Poetry Lover
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