The City that never sleeps

calm evening
sun blushes the hills pink
and peach as it leaves -
wind has died down:
the sea is glass with
tiny rills

town was abnormal:
trucks, petrol, people,
the beeping of the tills -
only one week and we are
used to the wind, water,
grasses, marsh birds
flitting in tussocks

sad to leave but there
is no living here:  too late
for crofting and sheep,
for loom or spinning wheel,
a world away
from all I've known was
the grindstone of the city
that never sleeps
and the slavery that kills

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