Descending t’ward the depths of what
In London passes for transport,
Oft do I ignore the thrust
Of passengers, who, in their lust
To reach their desks and start each day
Do trample others ‘midst the fray.
Once upon a youthful day
I, purposeful, would elbow through
But lately I step out the way
To give more room to those who do.
And easing, thus, their passage by
This courtesy, I rarely spy
A shifting glance, infrequent too, of
Gratitude for what I do.