Poetry

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And;yet if cobble stones could speak,the lane's
where famalies grew;the time's were tight yet
everyone got on alright;everything so modest
washed floor dry out with sawdust more,Cinder's
were a handy source,from Horse and Cart your quota
got;everybody scrambled when bucket's had no
handles,some of us had Gas;for others no Mains
for Gas alas,come to-day what words could say,
Man becomes his own display,progress quite
ambiguous;time can't flatter how Truth's do
matter,eternity is there too see Amen who got
their Ticket Free,with God's Help is it thee, and
me. Joe.

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