Lancashire Lass by Jilly Bowling - Lancashire Poetry

PUBLISHED: 10:03 05 April 2011 | UPDATED: 19:09 20 February 2013

A poem called Lancashire Lass by Jilly Bowling

As I sit upon the moor,the sweet smell of heather is the lure,the grasses I played in as a child,they no longer seem high they no longer seem wild.

I as a child would spend my days,just watching and sitting in sun soaked rays,the town below me,the houses the mills,a Lancashire town that had no frills.

For then the smoke from the chimneys would rise, like a dragons breath would fill the skies,the old cotton mills dark and grey,stood like great ships in an empty bay.

The times I walked within the mill,no sounds of machines all was still,the light that streamed from the high window,gave a feeling of sadness that now does show,of the long hard days that were once had there, by women,and children that gave much despair.

For these are the cotton mills of my Lancashire home they once stood proudly but now stand alone,in a maze of houses,and newly built shops, no longer we see the chimney tops.


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