Day dawns bright, skies on fire,

Night retreating on a funeral pyre.

A resurgent sun flames new light,

Holds firm against the black of night.

The cold, the dark, both slip away

Revealing in their wake a chill Tuesday.

Emerging now from the dying gloom,

Adorned in tabards bright as a nuclear bloom.

Their cheer and joy reflects this fresh day

Forwards they press all work, no play.

To remove our guilt and collect our sins,

March those hi-viz men,

the Lords of the Bins.

Gavin Dimmock.

22 October 2019