Most unlucky I 'd say
I made a poem up this morning about Accrington and here it is....
THE COPPICE
Look at the coppice covered in trees,a quiet place for the birds and the bees,
Hear the Magpies chatter and the squirrels natter,in amoungst the green pines,
Take a walk up the path,through the damp grass –but did you know once the coppice was bald…
Bald and bare,all was short wirey grass with bushes scattered across the way,were me and my mates used to play,us little kids played hide and seek,made us happy when things were bleak.Oh what fun it was on bits of cardboard,we used to slide down those sloping banks,that’s when the coppice was bald…
We stood on the monument looking over town,in the early morning with the fresh air in our faces,or late at night when the dark cloaked the land,when electric lights,like diamonds,spread out across the earth below,Accrington,Blackburn,Clayton Le Moors,Darwen too,to the North Whalley – and Pendle Hill,like a big fat belly rising out of the black,that’s when the coppice was bald…
Rising like a lark,fluttering like a pipit,running,bouncing like a puppy Whippet,in the sun when the summer was bright,we kids swam in the lodge at the edge of the path,like a blast of cold water over Mr Jones daughter,then the sun was going down,we walked back into town,that’s when the coppice was bald – there were no trees rustling in the breeze,then the council decided it needed green,so they sent up the workmen,digging holes down on their knees,planting the saplings … that’s when the coppice was bald!!!
:engsmil:
So Chelle have you any poems you would like to post.