<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=511573" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>The Village</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">The village once had a tiny railway station at one end<br>and a little pub where old men would drink.<br>No food was served, no canned lager<br>only good old fashioned ale.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Buses came each hour, never sooner<br>and the postman would pop by for a cup of tea.<br>I'd run errands for old ladies<br>and bring them flowers I'd picked from the fields.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Nowadays there are high rise flats replacing cottages, <br>a pub on every corner and supermarkets.<br>Boys walk round in gangs and hoods<br>and old ladies stay inside.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">They shiver by cold radiators, too afraid of bills, <br>that used to be log fires and no one pops by.<br>They say they're too busy with their own lives, <br>their own problems.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Kids wreck shop fronts for kicks and swag<br>while trains that were clean and tidy<br>are vandalized, mindlessly, maliciously <br>and nobody dare intervene. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Changes, not for better or the richer, <br>some for poorer and most for the worse.<br>The old in work on crutches<br>the young, in dole queues.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Who knows what tomorrow may bring, <br>what new beginnings may come.<br>Or will it all turn sour again<br>and again and again?</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Ruth+Walters">Ruth Walters</a><div class=q> <img src="https://www.citatepedia.ro/g/32share.png" style="float:left" alt="Share"> <script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=511573" data-title="The Village de Ruth Walters" data-description="The village once had a tiny railway station at one end and a little pub where old men would drink. No food was served, no canned lager only good old fashioned ale. Buses came each hour, never sooner and the postman would pop by for a cup of tea. ..."></div> </div> </div>

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