Wordsley Hospital R.I.P - Poem by Della Perry
The hospital has passed on to
Rubble and ruin, gone the clinical clean
Corridors and baby units,
No more children of the future proudly saying,
'I was born in Wordsley Hospital! '
Pregnant ladies are now crammed into
Russells Hall; like suckling sows on farms,
While first time buyers houses occupy
Where once crying babies suckled.
With perfect shrubbery and crazy paved driveways.
Clinical white windows and solid wooden doors
Fitted kitchens and tiled floors.
And no signs of life, for no-one round here can afford to buy.
No sounds of children, for no-one can afford to start a family these days.
Meanwhile local schools close too,
The Public Houses where father's wetted their child's head shut,
Boarded up with wood,
And a ghost town emerges from the rubble
Where once generation after generation of Black Country fellows grew.
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