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smallstepsmadpotepotriemantheartfulcodgerscogterransvoice
Withernwick, May 2017


This village was my home
My first twenty odd years
I'm showing it to a friend,
At times close to tears.
Our cottage rebuilt,
The old bricks being used,
A holiday dwelling now
Standing empty and unused.
The smithy stands restored
The steel hooping ring is gone
It's all grassed and mown
And a pleasure to walk on.
Once there were Binders
And other farm machines
On mud surface, replaced now
By verdant springy green.
The old church still there,
The graveyard closed down,
My familyĒs unmarked graves
Sunk level to the ground.
On one stone I read
Dates of start and end
Above the remains of
One lost old school friend.
Some once green sites gone
Where newer houses stand
But all tastefuly built and
In keeping with the land.
As we wander on round
Half remembered footpaths,
Not marked or very clear,
Maybe these days they
Are no longer really here,
There are folk around
But very few I know
Thogh everyboy replies
To my spontaneous Hello.
And one or two stop
And we have a nice chat
And i catch upon things as
We talk of this and that.
I'm glad we came back to
Where I got my good start
For it's really still my home
Deep down in my heart.
Wave goodbye to my ghosts
Then off on our way:
Memories added to memory
On this lovely Spring day.







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