By 13th October 2010December 9th, 2019No Comments

Home at last to the familiar damp shallow valley,
Smug beyond smut spattered collier burrowed woodlands,
Helter skelter rail clattering shadow travelled cornfields,
Ear-piercingly squealing across rain leaky roadbridge,
To anonymously steal from the smoky stone station.

Home past rust ugly corrugated sheet enclosed bus park,
Rattling seed tin pigeon loft keepers enviously observing,
Contemptuous birds imperiously orbiting the inelegant spire,
And grass-less stone littered knee scarring sportsfield,
Noisy with ball chasing boys pursued by ineffectual masters.

Home at last by deep dust dowdy window displays,
Fronting tomb gloomy interiored brown painted corner shops,
Parochial peerings by curtain camouflaged neighbours,
Rows of flower free front gardened dignified doored villa’s,
Bearing high wall plaques marking Marne,Aisne,and Somme.

Tom Eadie

Author Tom Eadie

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