Shall not be outdone
in the exhaust-flooded hedgerow
in the car-mad height
his ratchet and trill
cleave the London air
with wholesome arrowheads of sound
spirals and curves, bright
fountains of light in darkness.
Little juggling Jenny
risking all, daring
the dare beyond all dares
to out-sing the frantic rush-hour
to subdue with his green song
his light-filled aria
the city's swollen smoke and fume.