Something to Crow About
It was just the crow of a rooster,
I heard in the distance one day,
That sent my mind on a journey
To a time, long since, sped away.
We lived in a place that was rural,
With breezes of fresh country air,
And lapped by the gentlest of waters.
The views more than passing fair.
Meat from the butcher, came out by bus.
The storekeeper, provider and friend,
Kept an eye on each one in the area,
With a helping hand, ready to lend.
Part sealed roads for the transport
Wound over hill and dale.
Farms, orchards and strawberry patches,
Would soon become, “Land for Sale"
The noise of chainsaws and hammering,
The birds could just not out-do,
And houses filled in the spaces.
A new generation came too.
The group who sang hymns on the corner,
Must be close to their Maker by now?
These who left us our heritage
Have all taken their final bow.
Though a district is urban or country,
It's people who count in a place.
If they've been there a lifetime, or arrived yesterday,
Say "Hello" with a smile on your face.
The rooster I heard would not be allowed
Were urban restrictions obeyed.
But his crow took me back, down Memory Lane.
One link with the past has remained.