While Leicester City Sleeps


The cold streets are left deserted of people,

The bustling Highcross is deathly quiet.

The King Power is empty of its ardent supporters,

The market stalls are without the riot.


Leicester’s population are safety tucked up,

Sleeping soundly in their cosy homes.

Whether it’s a sprawling mansion in Houghton,

Or someone who’s bedroom roams.


Leicester’s nocturnal creatures immerge out,

From their daytime of slumbers,

To start their routines in the floodlit city night,

Waking up in very large numbers.


From inside the clock tower bats appear,

As large as Gary Lineker’s ears,

Flocking up and down the quiet High Street,

Looking for left over cans of beers.


Like their close cousins the vampire bats,

They navigate with clicks and beeps,

Sucking up every drop of the amber nectar,

All night when Leicester city sleeps.


A family of fearless foxes exit the gate,

From the King Power’s east stand,

This group of hungry omnivores prowl,

Targeting anything that isn’t canned.

Bright coloured berries to donner kebabs,

With their deadly hunting sweeps,

Nothing is safe from their sharp white teeth,

The time when Leicester city sleeps.


Around the heights of DeMontfort University,

The scholarly owls roost in the day,

At night the studious owls let their feathers down,

And come out to party and play.


These clever owls have legendry gatherings,

Leaving their empties in big heaps,

Putting cones on statues and nicking signs,

All night when Leicester city sleeps.


In the dark peaceful grounds of Abbey Park,

Around the pond, a racket from two herds,

A nightly rap competition goes down till dawn,

Swans and ducks lay down a few words.


Each side lays down some deeply dirty beats,

For the opposition side to hear and weep,

The MC’s weave their stories of duck weed,

When the humans of Leicester city sleep.


The badgers of Belgrave Gate fill their bellies,

With onion bargees and chicken tikkas,

Rampaging down the golden mile at speed,

As if they were wearing Nike sneakers.



Ignoring all the red traffic lights up ahead,

Over side roads and curbs they leap,

Their nostrils and brains full up of spices,

When all Leicester city’s fast asleep.


The dawn chorus greets the Leicester day,

Light cascades on the king’s final grave,

All the nocturnal creatures head to their bed,

Till tomorrow night’s moonlit crime wave.

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