A strange comingling of the mills and moors
Green of nature,smoke from chimneys glowers
While sheep graze their wool is touched by smoke
But higher up the ground is bare of hope
Peering down I recognise the view
Rows of terraced houses share a loo
Women wear their aprons with panache
Boys are playing,give or take a bash.
Miners walking home with faces black
Painters with their ladders and their sacks
Little girls are skipping with their ropes
Cats are watching idly, kittens mope
Which way shall we go, we must decide
The green hill with no walls, the red brick eyes?