Timothy Venard (November 29th 1995 / Lewes)
Lewes: a Curious Little Town
The sun is burning the sky orange
along gorgeous green enclosing hills,
and as the sky gives way to the stars,
the street lights begin to glow.
Turn left, then right, down here, and along this!
As a I pant down the steep slope of Keere Street,
you see the stars burning bright,
OH! there's southover Primary!
Remember going there when we were young?
right, quickly, to the side, just up her!
There are still lights on at the station as we pas,
and here we see the high-street,
the curiousness of it all, , with all the hidden gems,
we've got time, is suppose, shall we go for a walk there?
so we do, we walk.
the high-street is lit in a warm orange glow
eliminating the empty shops,
which but an hour ago were full.
down the path, across this road, down this alley!
AH! the Needle Makers! Only Lewes could have
a place with such unique eccentricity in it's walls,
as this, our Lewesian Bazar.
embodying the spirit of the town!
Up this, and down this hill, over this bridge!
here's the old grammar school!
it's hard to believe, it's been around near 500 years,
with it's famously mad teachers, and students to match.
It's been at the heart of Lewes this whole time.
cross the road here, along this new path!
You see that church, here at the top of the High-street?
That is St. Anne's! The oldest in Lewes,
isn't it just beautiful? the idea that here,
people have been worshiping for over a thousand years!
Down his slope, over this fence, and through this gate!
And here at the Paddock, with it's ancient green trees,
it looks beautiful at night, with the stars shining though the trees,
and trees whispering in the dark!
in the shadows of the great old castle in the background
Lewes is perfect! a quant little town,
with many-a quant and curious place.
a strange town, full of strange people,
Never still, for that would be dull!
Comments about this poem (Lewes: a Curious Little Town by Timothy Venard )
Top 500 Poems
The Road Not Taken
If You Forget Me
Still I Rise
Edgar Allan Poe
William Ernest Henley
Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening
I Know Why The Caged Bird Sings