My childhood days I still recall <br />Where there beside our wooden gate <br />I stood and waited for so long <br />Just gazing up the street, <br />Until the baker's van appeared <br />Familiar in its red and white <br />That stopped at almost every house <br />Until the round complete. <br /> <br />Old Betty Hardman used to chat <br />To all the friendly people here <br />So glad to share her company <br />And pass the time of day, <br />Upon the doorstep loaf in hand <br />A ray of light to lonely folk <br />But conversation's over now <br />There's nothing left to say. <br /> <br />Come rain or shine would always come <br />To bring our daily loaf of bread <br />Those times forever gone alas <br />It's such a desperate shame, <br />As one by one the orders fell <br />Until so few of us remained <br />It wasn't worth the effort and <br />The van no longer came. <br /> <br />And now the street is hushed and still <br />With doors remaining firmly closed <br />The supermarket won the fight <br />And killed the Mothers Pride, <br />I pity those who never saw <br />The likes of which shan't come again <br />The happiness of long ago <br />Which now has sadly died.<br /><br />ANDREW BLAKEMORE<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/mothers-pride/
