On Falkirk Street, a place of old,
Where childhood memories are made of gold,
The streets were narrow, the people few,
A place where dreams were born and true.
But time, it does its thing,
And Falkirk Street, it does sing,
A different tune, a new refrain,
As change comes knocking on the brain.
The houses together, the streets so Narrow,
A place where children grow and thrive,
But now, the roads are not so bright,
As change has come, and taken flight.
The children are grown, the streets so still,
A place where memories are made to kill,
But caution, it must be headed,
As growing up, it is not always read.
The world outside, it beckons near,
A place where dreams are made to clear,
But Falkirk Street, it stands tall,
A place where memories enthrall.
- Author: Mark The Phenomenon ( Offline)
- Published: August 18th, 2024 17:33
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 26
Comments1
Nostalgia and the past a bit of darkness in this poem. Nicely done
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