Men wander dim avenues in search of
gin and Jezebel’s to escape
a personal hell.
Steel-toed workers rise with the moon,
shifting the night into the early morn.
A young mother, weary and bleary-eyed,
fingers running over the keyboard
chasing an elusive word count
Written for the dVerse prompt using the word rise or its derivative in a quadrille form.
**Image from https://art.alphacoders.com