Wintry sunshine gives its chilly warmth,
To a garden sheltered from the winds,
By tower blocks, a Theatre and the trees.
Elms in an oasis in the march of time.

People walk, take short cuts,
From city street; or simply sit,
Some sprawled, singing or shouting.
Noisy, incoherent; in the peace.

Some not awake, nor yet asleep.
Not asleep, but dreaming dreams,
Of affluence and fun, but which smell,
Of cannabis, or alcohol or both.

And we are drawn from bedsit, from squat,
Or from penthouse grand overlooking,
The Downs but drawn to rural idyll, contracted,
To a patch of green among the city streets.