I wish I had his talent,
not a phrase denoting green eyed fury
or jealous wrath
but just an adoration for the detail in elegant brush
strokes, thin line drawn
pencil men
which are more human than I.
An allusion perhaps dear Cyrano
to the master of clogs and dogs,
of factory gates at closing time
and scuffed hats thrown in the air
at the dead of dawn;
yet Cyrano, I might love Lowry,
how could you not after all,
but I am entranced by your work,