Tram Bell

TRAM BELL Steep streets everywhere you played, Where your football would roll away forever; And sawdust spilt out of the butcher’s onto the steep sidewalk Among the feet of the tram queue, All listening keenly to hear the bell sounding From the tram which was overdue. All gazing distantly over the rainy Team Valley And its mills and foundries turning coal Into steel bridges and ship hulls For the steeply entrenched Tyne. At the bell’s sound, everybody shuffled forward, Leaving the sawdust footprints To be washed away in the rain.