A poem called A Lancashire Summmer by Jilly Bowling
The fields are golden,the sun is warm,the sky is blue and the sheep are shorn,the cows they graze no cares do they own,this is our Summer and the leaves have grown.
The long hard winter seems so far away,from the memories of that snowy day,the one I see so clear in my mind,these are the seasons of Lancashire kind.
Its six in the morning and a piecer I am,working 8 hours a day,in the mill with my mam,my friend is a scavenger under machine,he's getting the cotton and rarely is seen.
This mill in the summer is getting quite hot,nice in the winter but that is forgot,nobody knows how warm it can be, to work in this place, or is it just me.
An hour we have to enjoy our snap,I wonder what me mam did wrap,will I be lucky and get a treat,or will it be a sandwich with thickly cut meat.
My lunch is finished and its now of to school,attending for an hour is the new rule,I wish I could stay here forever and learn,but we have to share and give others a turn.
JILLY BOWLING
