On a hot summers day,
There’s a palette of grey
That determines the mood of the town.
It was once a great port,
had a bustling trade
but prosperity’s starting to drown.
It’s markets drew crowds.
Whether sunny, or clouds
Threatened rain to discourage your shop.
With its bountiful pubs
that entice you to drink
on a school day. You just couldn’t stop.
Then a trip down Main Street,
On a bus or on feet,
Used to repay adventure with shopping.
But today as I wandered
around this Ghost Town
I had noticed that no cars were stopping.
So the ills of this town
go unnoticed. It’s down
to a lack of a motive for some.
But as Blyth gasps it’s breath,
It’s much closer to death.
All it needs is a man with a gun.