Monday, 2 January 2012


I am scooped out from an unsliced loaf, from Cherry Blossom parade gloss, and library books.

I am from shiny lino and shaded back door steps.

I am from the foxgloves, lupins and bluebells.

I am from bullies, cowards and heroines.

From Bess and Bob, from Muriel and Jim,

I am from the Sunday School, the public baths, the Playgroup committee and the market.

From nurturing, and protecting and escaping.

I am from Methodists and Spritualists

I'm from Wellington, and Shrewsbury, and Horsehay.

From lamb stew, and warm scones, and sugar butties.

From my teenaged mother and the births of my own children.

I am from an exploding boiler room, sawdust-floored pubs, and school halls with ropes and ladders.

I am from determind wills and passionate callings to righteousness.

I am from the bless'ed humble poor.

I am from foundry men and cleaners, foundry men and cleaners, soldiers,clergy and poets.

I am from Shropshire. I am not leaving.

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