T’was the week before Christmas and all round the street

Nothing was stirring – not even police

But up in a bank like bees around honey,

Men toiled for hours at stealing the money.

Sarah Ann     {in memory of Sam Russell, dear friend}

 

Ah’ll change me ways o’ goin’, for me head is gettin’ grey

Ah’m tormented washin’ dishes an’ makin’ drops of tae

The kitchen’s like a midden an’ the parlour’s like a sty

There’s half a foot of clabber in the street out by.

Ah’ll go down again tomorra on me ceili to the Cross

For I’ll have to get a woman or the place’ll go to loss.

 

Icy winds visit

bleak days in shop fronts

On the way to supermarkets