Ever open
This nostalgic poem takes us back to a time when our front door was always open. Neighbours popped in for a cuppa or to borrow some sugar, and a sense of community and friendship was all around.
Ever Open
Chamber pots, below your bed, a feather pillow for your head,
An oven plate to warm your feet, brown paper wrapped to keep it neat,
Black-leaded grates, red-painted step, a ‘peg rug’ on the floor,
A time of want and ‘getting by’, with an ever open door.
A neighbour you could borrow from, and give back in return,
Someone always there for you, a lesson here to learn,
With nothing to be jealous of, when we were young and poor,
We had more friends beside us then, with an ever open door.
An old and stained brown teapot, was ever on the go,
As friends popped in to stay awhile, to smoke a ‘pasha’ for a blow,
And as the loose brown tea leaves, strained and dripped forevermore,
We chatted with those friends who came, through that ever open door.
When you have very little, it is then you’re at your best,
You find your truest friends then, who never were impressed,
They did not want bone china, or fine carpet on the floor,
Just a smile for them, and a welcome, through an ever open door!
Mick
( Copyright Michael Westwood 2014 )
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