Mothers Pride Poem by ANDREW BLAKEMORE

My childhood days I still recall
Where there beside our wooden gate
I stood and waited for so long
Just gazing up the street,
Until the baker's van appeared
Familiar in its red and white
That stopped at almost every house
Until the round complete.

Old Betty Hardman used to chat
To all the friendly people here
So glad to share her company
And pass the time of day,
Upon the doorstep loaf in hand
A ray of light to lonely folk
But conversation's over now
There's nothing left to say.

Come rain or shine would always come
To bring our daily loaf of bread
Those times forever gone alas
It's such a desperate shame,
As one by one the orders fell
Until so few of us remained
It wasn't worth the effort and
The van no longer came.

And now the street is hushed and still
With doors remaining firmly closed
The supermarket won the fight
And killed the Mothers Pride,
I pity those who never saw
The likes of which shan't come again
The happiness of long ago
Which now has sadly died.