With the heat of the sun, <br />As it fiercely beats down, <br />There's no shade to be won, <br />In this old Shanty Town. <br /> <br />The rough row of shacks, <br />To be seen up and down, <br />Are riddled with cracks, <br />In this old Shanty town. <br /> <br />The winds, blowing hard, <br />Send the tumbleweed down, <br />To take over a graveyard, <br />In this old Shanty Town. <br /> <br />And weird echoes resound, <br />Through doors broken down, <br />And no welcome is found, <br />In this old Shanty Town. <br /> <br />Once a horse and its rider, <br />Came sauntering down, <br />In the hope of cool cider, <br />In this old Shanty Town. <br /> <br />That's when there were folk, <br />Who walked up and down, <br />And slept and awoke, <br />In this old Shanty Town. <br /> <br />But these times have flown, <br />And it's drab and rundown, <br />And one's all on one's own, <br />In this old Shanty Town. <br /> <br />© Ernestine Northover<br /><br />Ernestine Northover<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/old-shanty-town/
