Around the book my fingers close
The binding smooth as glass
And past the rain-smeared window pane
The cars go roaring past
Yet in my hands the pages turn
And soft a firelight glow
Fills up the room and ushers in
The days of long ago
A golden yesteryear, where still
The smog lies thick and low
And through the lamplit London streets
The rain-soaked hansoms go
And you and I, more modern ghosts
May still with spectral feet
Go walking down the well-worn way
That leads to Baker Street

Copyright © 2018 by Finn McLellan.  All rights reserved.