The snow fell in Dewsbury Moor overnight,
They woke up at lunch to a horrible sight,
The snow had flowed through the broken gates,
And roads were blocked all across the estates,
The giros had still not arrived after ten,
So wailing was general within the crack den.
The bin bags piled up to the lower window,
Obscured by the grime-defying, beautyfying snow.
The wind whistled through the boarded up seams,
Of windows and roused men from opiate dreams,
While weary-eyed women with mascara'd tears,
Tend to their children, three in four years.
But the memories stay as the snow melts away,
How beautiful Dewsbury Moor looked today!
Copyright © Nick Barnsley