Whisper
By Ossy Gobbiner
- 497 reads
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
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