Burnt out ends of smoky days

As we experience a slightly unseasonable cold snap - the first snow in London in October since the Thirties apparently - I thought it appropriate to post one of my favourite poems:

Preludes
by T. S. Eliot

The winter's evening settles down
With smells 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 across your feet
And newspapers from vacant lots;
The showers beat
On empty 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.

(And yes, this is one of the inspirations behind the lyrics of Memory from Cats - a musical based upon Eliot's Old Possum's Book of Practical Cats.)