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lulworthcarousel ladies with wishing well hats cricket players with oaken wood bats trumpet players in the village band they all had me to make promises i couldn't keep they all rode to market in a green jeep the durdle door surf it was mighty a roar the sand it was fine and the love was amour the crabs they were tiny they bit many toes and the rugged rocks they tore at your clothes the baskets were laden with lobsters a crying though there many a chef happily frying the lulworth lord weld he was in his castle terrain the tanks were fireing upon the range the castle drew grockels by the score the trust it was financially fine n secure though the village was dead now had sold off its hopes at the last war times poor old johnny said it twas a crime whilst the car park prices were too dear by far so don't come to Lulworth my dears if you get there by car Poetry Ad-Free Upgrades Vote for this poem
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