London
The smell of primrose in my nose,
I glance upon this scene,
The cranes and domes they fill my sight,
This city full of green,
The blue bridge in the middle shows,
The twinkly lights rotate,
As bearskins march right up and down,
Stand neatly at their gate,
Do we head North or is it South?,
Just wait I need to check,
But not for long, a job made swift,
It’s easy thanks to Beck,
The cricket in the evening times,
It’s sixty-eight for four,
So take a bow, it’s time to rest,
And hear the Southbank’s roar,
The bridges breath goes up and down,
The tourists shall flock in,
As glass emerges high above,
The old reflected in,
A rainbow of eleven shades,
The quickest way to see,
This awe inspiring city,
One that gives us so much glee.
