By Jackson’s wall on Flinders wide,
Where trams do groan and footsteps glide,
A lady walks in coat of grace,
With shaded eyes and steadfast face.
Her trench is tied in noble thread,
Like whispers stitched from times long dead,
Its folds command the morning air,
As though she strolled from Baudelaire.
The city hums, a restless tide,
Where strangers pass and thoughts collide;
Yet still she moves, serene, apart,
A quiet world around her heart.
The crowd flows on in clashing stream,
Each caught within their private dream,
While she, composed in poise and form,
Stands like a calm within the storm.
And over her frame the light does play,
As clouds retreat from break of day;
In monochrome, she seems to be
A ghost of grace and memory.
Sony A7RV
FE 135mm 1.8 GM
Check out Candid 825
