Two little girls stood in the corner
giggling, holding hands.
Birds chirping and the smell
of ill-used petrol.
Iron bells clanged in the clock tower.
All the stones were crimson and gold
sunlight.
The old man was still
held up by his wooden friend,
long since varnished with the worth of use.
And as a dog howled far off,
an impregnated scream,
the people hurled their gifts
of blackened thoughts
and polished light.
Agitation of hands. Strength of words. 
i feel a sense of old and young in this poem.
girls, giggling, sunlight, birds chirping-young
iron bells, petrol, stones,old man, people with blackened thoughts-old
pleasant
“long since varnished with the worth of use.”
I like how you used the word worth and defined it by use.
Much appreciation.
This one is Portuguese inspired.