Civil

In quiet streets where lanterns gleam,
A civil hush begins to dream,
Where neighbours share a soft‑spoken word,
And courteous gestures are not blurred.

The town hall stands with modest pride,
Its stone façade a genteel guide,
Within, the council’s measured tone
Weaves law and hope, not stern, alone.

A civil engineer, with steady hand,
Draws bridges ’cross the river’s span,
Each arch a promise, strong and true,
To link the hearts of old and new.

In market squares, the traders call,
Their voices rise, yet none enthrall
With rancour; rather, laughter’s blend
Mends the frayed, defends the mend.

When protests stir with purpose keen,
They march in order, calm, serene,
Banners held with respectful grace,
A civil demand for time and space.

Thus, Britain’s spirit, mild and sage,
Finds strength not in fury’s rage,
But in the quiet, steady art
Of being civil, heart to heart.