Poem by Lesbia Harford

The Invisible People

When I go into town at half past seven
Great crowds of people stream across the ways,
Hurrying, although it's only half past seven.
They are the invisible people of the days.

When you go in to town about eleven
The hurrying, morning crowds are hid from view.
Shut in the silent buildings at eleven
They toil to make life meaningless for you.

1. Closing Time: Public Library
2. He had served eighty masters. They'd have said
3. Do you remember still the little song
4. All through the day at my machine
5. If you have loved a brave story

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