Work in Progress
A battle for supremacy,
Comes undone in traffic chaos.
Cones, stop signs and diggers,
Lay dormant, killing time.
Work has not resumed,
Bob’s leg has healed,
Yet doctors’ orders deny.
So leave the desolation,
The high street ripped apart.
Forget the midday mayhem,
And focus on the good.
Little kids can kick, the
Sand about, pull cones over,
Fill up on laughter’s choir.
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