Ensue

Ensue

When the rain sighs on the cobblestones,
A ripple of steam curls from the pavement,
Each droplet a quiet promise that follows,
A soft‑spoken sequel to the storm’s refrain.

Footsteps echo on the deserted high street,
Lorry horns low, a muted chorus,
They trail the laughter that drifted from the café,
Where the scent of toasted biscuits lingers, waiting.

In the quiet flat, the torch flickers—
A thin amber beam that spills across the rug,
Shadows stretch and then retreat,
As thoughts, like unwelcome guests, ensue the day's hush.

So let the aftermath unfurl in measured tread,
Not a tumult but a gentle after‑thought,
For every action, a quiet consequence,
A British calm that steadfastly ensues.