Not many write on Amberswood
With only a pen I'm not sure that I could
So after consulting my elders and betters
I imagined a landscape I might paint in letters
Near Hockery brook not a stones throw
Stood four falling cottages “Can row”
As a drunk wanders surely across the way
The Amberswood pub to come down soon someday
To keep good the license and resite the venue
They put a bar in the vicar's house and a simple menu
The three white ladies no Alpine heaven
Just frosted slag heaps and “LEGS ELEVEN”
No lowland glen or highland fling
What death march will tomorrow bring?
The square dance that was Amberswood
I'd write on it now if only I could
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