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The winter evening settles down The bruised and beat up open sky Six o'clock The city in its final dress And now a gusty shower wraps the grimy scraps Of withered leaves all about your feet And then the ringing of a twitching hand Six o'clock, six o'clock

(As pointed out by the comments—because I won't claim to have as vast a knowledge of poetry, though I wish I did!—it's inspired by the T.S. Eliot poem Preludes)

The winter evening settles down With smell of steaks in passageways. Six o'clock. The burnt-out ends of smoky days. And now a gusty shower wraps The grimy scraps Of withered leaves about your feet And newspapers from vacant lots; The showers beat On broken blinds and chimney-pots, And at the corner of the street A lonely cab-horse steams and stamps. And then the lighting of the lamps.