Golden hour

Golden hour more a dour
Unpolished brass hue,
Piercing through these little else’s to do
Frozen in the lifetime of a day;
In Small Heath snow and dew. 
Churning the Earth, for what it’s worth,
In treaded role of digging holes,
As young Kabir practises his boles
In bread crumb betterment 
And full view of our safer bet.
Behind laughter battlements
That brace the elements
You make your stand 
Against the shift for 80 quid, 
In your pocket quick, 
That should keep us liq’d
In pubs of brick, 
Til hairy Monday reigns again.