Rebecca

Rebecca, you walk through Westminster’s marble halls,
Her laugh a bright clapper‑cone, cheering the morning vows.
She savours a cuppa, steam curling like a gentle cloud,
While the Tube thrum beneath—London’s lifeblood, proud.

In the park she finds rhythm, chasing a loyal collie
They run like a well‑tuned symphony, the world unfolding,
Her eyes catch the street‑lamps’ amber shine, a flickering glow,
Rebecca, a portrait of grace, in the city’s warm undertow.