Sunday, 15 May 2011


        
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J.S Wainwright

J.S Wainwright lives above his shop in the street,
He supplies a friendly smile and varieties of meat,
Large pigs hang on hooks, outside in a row,
He stands in the doorway, listening to the sound of the great bells of Bow.

As the day comes to an end, he sells off what he can,
Knuckles and bones, just enough meat for the pan,
When closing time comes, he lets out a sigh of relief,
Climbs the stairs to his wife, and the smell of boiled beef. 





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