MEMORY OF A TOWN:

Spires, steeples & the echoes of long-ago people,

Mingling with grey mists of old time descending,

As footsteps from the past, tiptoe grey & wending,

Through cobbled alley-ways of past ancient history.

Keg carting drays, clip-clopping through misty greys,

Passing through mind´s distant memory, now gone,

Old streets dappled, but where the sun never shone,

Places where all was sold, but very little was bought.

“Cockles, mussels, whelks”, yelled from old mouths,

“Come buy, come buy”, on every corner, the shout,

The flower sellers, tinkers, tailors, everyone a tout,

Now, only silence reigns & life belongs to rats & cats.

The old town where town-crier called to everyone & all,

And old oaks stood, old books spoke, all in old grey stone,

Now, only ancient creeping ivy, wrapping old slate bone,

Enfolding wafting musty aromas, of smoky times gone by.