Best Scrapyard Poems

Walton’s Scrapyard

Mr Walton was our local scrap man
He wore a great big hat
His yard was squeezed between 
Two terraced houses
And I was always amazed at that

The yard was full of junk
Rusting scrap
And old tat
Tangled up and piled up high
That was fascinating to a Nipper
Like I

Old...

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Oh I'll make my metal croak and creak,
As it rusts
And rots -
Powdered orange dust
For as a child I wished to water
A garden of vines and blooming trees.

And now I remember
My dreams geared to grow -
A magnificent forest before society saw.
And see they did, and seize...

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