Whisper

From the shadowy depths rise a thousand silent voices

that breathlessly whisper from the damp cotton mills

Listen and you can hear their bond of community

as the heathered moors reflection settles murmur still

Their souls live here in a restless dream of whispers

eager to tell of the sights and sounds they have seen

Listen and you can hear their stories of love and friendship

Sit back and see what progress for them did bring

Hear the children’s dream of life beyond the slate and chalk

as they whisper softly from the hushed chapel room

Dreams of being engine drivers, quarrymen or mill owners

The future of endless ambiguity would be upon them soon

Listen to Roscow’s engine as it strains to feed the revolution

bringing with it  prosperity as it strips the stone from Grane

Abundant tubs endlessly travel beyond the hillside incline

loaded at the siding Stubbins bound upon the financiers train

Wellington’s pudding eaters endeavour is discreetly whispered

By the ladies who brought Methodist Good Friday teas

While at St Steven’s the full to bursting congregation

Joyfully celebrate as the spirit brings them to their knees

Then the valley starts to ripple to the sound of the Cities thirst

corporation men whisper as they pillage the spinners lease

Not long until St Stevens is brick by brick numbered

as the faithful and hardy make the final forced retreat

You can still hear the mill workers laughter

if you listen to the waters lapping against the shore

Feel the Grane’s heart proudly whispering

Of the community that was here before