In the sun, she moves with quiet grace,
A pram before her, steady pace.
Down Swanston Street where footsteps flow,
Through the city’s midday glow.
The crowd surges, a restless stream,
Shadows flit and windows gleam.
But she — a calm within the tide,
With a plaid of hair swung to one side.
The tram bell rings, the pigeons stir,
Yet all the world slows down for her.
A mother’s rhythm, firm yet light,
Carving day from neon light.
Melbourne pulses, grand and wide,
But still she walks, with time beside.
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