A tragic poem composed by John Henderson on the 31st of March, 2015

The Glasgow Smog in '59 filled up folks' lungs with grit
From coal-fired smoke that rose then fell and made them want to spit.

Each bus, or car or noisy tram made progress by the yard
As the only way to safely move while each kept-on braking hard.

The more folks walked, the more they sought to reach the 'Undergrounds'
Where fresh air coasted as the trains rushed onwards leaps and bounds.

No sirens sounded deep down below as they had each wartime day
To call, "'All Clear', there's nought to fear, so now, get on your way."

But even then lots folks got lost and wandered hopelessly
Inhaling dust and seeing nought of their homes' security.