OUR TOWN

 

OUR TOWN

From St John’s and high Bank Top

View market and church, closing shop

Rush hour sprawl is same as old

Traffic stalled on mad Ring Road

Where fleets of buses once attired

That since to Beamish have retired

Familiar clock's in regal tower

Faithful ward of each new hour

Bathed in sun’s expiring rays

Tolls out now as in all our days

This night will hear no Feethams roar

Joy unleashed as Quakers score

Cup hopes then too soon were spread

Thunder of hands on old Tin Shed

A slow demise and fans’ long pain

Yet died that club to rise again

Which gives me hope for this our town

As evening comes with a starry gown

This balmy home of all called Quakers

Never will she rise to shake us

She bears us all, weak and strong

Silent judge of right and wrong

And whether she's seen us smile or frown

Forever has she been Our Town

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