Old Shanty Town

With the heat of the sun,
As it fiercely beats down,
There’s no shade to be won,
In this old Shanty Town.

The rough row of shacks,
To be seen up and down,
Are riddled with cracks,
In this old Shanty Town.

The winds, blowing hard,
Send the tumbleweed down
To take over a graveyard,
In this old Shanty Town.

And weird echoes resound,
Through doors broken down,
And no welcome is found,
In this old Shanty Town.

Once a horse and its rider,
Came sauntering down,
In the hope of cool cider,
In this old Shanty Town.

That’s when there were folk,
Who walked up and down,
And slept and awoke,
In this old Shanty Town.

But these times have flown,
And it’s drab and rundown,
And one’s all on one’s own,
In this old Shanty Town.


© Ernestine Northover

Andrew Blakemore
A wonderful poem Ernestine, it reads like an old folk song. x

tom balch
Ah! the life and times of an old shanty town, great write, Ernestine.