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in stevensons days
next to the bathroom at the top of the stairs i remember as children we all said our prayers the lines of the tables and verse oh so neat the manners of gentlefolk we all learned to speak there was food on the table though morsels were meek we were strong in our culture and our language was weak we learnt from our masters and held back our tears as we curtsied and frolicked throughout our play years the poets were sound then with lines oh so sweet there were hawkers and pedlar's all run down the streets the air it was cold and the hares they did run the farmland was plentiful by the roar of the gun the fables and stories we were all told our heroes were wise men and the hills made of gold the church bells they rang and the congregation grew there was laughter abroad then and boats sailed from Poole Poetry Ad-Free Upgrades Vote for this poem
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