Gold In The Hills Poem by Joyce Hemsley

Humour Intended:

At her stall she stands
Selling cut flowers
Roses and sweet daffodils.
Fifty pence per bloom
Or eighty pence per bunch
Cos there's gold in them there 'ills.

Knitting wool she sells
At sixty pence per ball
And pretty silk petticoats with frills
I'm making a fortune, she said yesterday.
Cos there's gold in them there 'ills.

Some people pass on
As she's selling her wares
But her goods are top of the range.
Though there are some kind folk
Who hand her a coin
And call out 'please keep the change'.

When blossoms start wilting
They're reduced in price...
Those roses and sweet daffodils!
Thirty pence per bloom
Or sixty pence per bunch.
Cos there's gold in them there 'ills.