A Poem By Alan Whitfield
Have you ever
Severn ways out,
just a weekend stay,
layers of family history,
is there a brick for every vacationist.
Like a bad occupation
the circle centred by the square,
Lancaster straight-laced.
Cobbles gone.
Jackdaws’ flown.
As chip fat retches eyes.
Its only one way
and its easy to say.
