There’s a town

Where there is a street

Where are all the cobbles polished

By the rain

Solid and set for good

Each and every house one after another joined at the hip

Slates cut perfectly aligned

Where the rain falls

In steady showers

Off rooves down pipes

From cast iron

Black as night gutters

And doors shuttered but never locked

Red steps meticulously cleaned

 

There is a street that is free

Of paper broken glass and weeds

Because folk are proud

Of windows that never jam

And widows all dream

Of once again meeting their true love

Even though he may never return

Where the privy’s cold

But no one ever complains about getting stuck to the seat

Where the milkman whistles

And the postman always smiles

And passes the time of day

 

There is forever a place where we can remember

The days of war

And of strife

Days of a nation cut and spliced

There were towns like these

With streets like these

Where the home fire was still burning

The kettle on the range

And the whistle still spoke out across the factory gates

 

There is a place we can remember

For the dead

The shattered and the blind