My Wee Prefab Poem by Bill Wright

I was raised in a wee tin prefab,
In Paisley's Gallowhill,
I've not lived there for many a year,
But the memories linger still.

In the living room was a coal fire,
Which sometimes took ages to light,
Holding a paper up to the chimney,
Eventually it turned out alright.

We had our own wee bathroom,
Not exactly a luxury now when
We take such things for granted,
But many didn't have one back then.

Our built-in kitchen was tiny,
With more mod cons than you might think,
Mum was more than delighted,
With her fridge, cooker, boiler and sink.

Outside we had two small gardens,
With a drying green and shed at the rear,
And Dad had his own wee vegetable plot,
Growing produce year after year.

Every Spring I had to help him,
With a smelly job, I kid you not,
Wheeling a barrow load of manure,
To put on his own precious plot.

Possessions were not a big thing then,
No car, no Wi-Fi, no phone,
But nobody had very much either,
You knew you were not alone.

What we had was more precious than that,
Summed up by one four letter word,
All around us were family and friends,
And we were surrounded by love.