Poetry

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Up the lane,or down the lane;all of the houses were the same,tenement
was their name,some spaces left for quarried bases,no grassy patch
still games were played;hurling football soccer too,handball played against
tall gabbled wall,other interest's too;late Father payed on a friday,saturday
then for matinae,picture house like a second home,not to dear four
pennies there, collect some waste go to mister mackie's piggary then get
paid two pennies agree,thre quarter's centuary back,that's the way we had our
crack,thank you mister mackie up in heaven you must surely be,from those
of us still here to be,progress now says mister How,look at the way we do things
now,WOW;conflict's world wide,,Man's poor Soul is misplaced inside,
unhappiness is our own divide,while in GOD WE HOPE;He helps us find our way,
let all of us who Pray,AMEN'S NOT DELAY.
Joe,

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