Dreamy London flat? Nay, dreams of flight away away,Back to the comfort of homeโs steady wave.O woeful stay, where promised ease did flee,And yearning for return took hold of me.Upon the tables, dust in layers spread,Thick as the fog oโer Londonโs streets is said.Dust balls in clumps adorned the floorโs domain,A welcome made bleak, where charm could scarce remain.A blind hung broken, forlorn, in despair,Another stretched, immovable, laid bare.The front interior window, gaping, its pane long gone,Admitted chill and clamor all night long.The street, though near to train and bus to meet,Showed horrors vileโfoul sights of human feces near the street. We raised our plight to the host: the blinds, the windowโs pane,The blood-stained pillowโeach concern made plain.Assurances came swift, with hollow tone,Yet action lingered, absent, never shown.โTis not a hovel, yet nor a princely keep,Its photographs, illusions meant to trick.And for six eighty-five per night in pounds,Such ruinโs weight no justification sounds.Let others, warned, this fate of mine eschew,And seek a haven where dreams might come true.
