Plimsolls on Cobblestones

Nothing is quite the catalyst
Than the moment the town harmonises,
Linked arms, balled fists,
The lights dim,
And the men stand proud
And the women stand strong
And the children race the streets
Where they belong
Roaring sea shanties hard and long
Ballooned lungs, crowds tight,
Stirring the fog that creeps
Into the dark, enveloping night.

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