Down washpit lane then cross the cut,
smell woolwax scour and brimstone soot.
By sluicegate stream where outfall go
watch foamflush merge with virgin flow.
Pass tall stone stack of massive mill.
Up gasworks lane with coaltar smell.
Beneath the bridge of blackbright brick.
Through tenterfield of frame and hook,
and wuzzing’oles in walls all round.
Now leave man's alchemy behind
and walk in splendid rural scene.
Breathe sweetest air; see brightest green.
It was a world of stark contrast.
But now, just memories of the past.
Johnny’s got an island
In the Surrey countryside
It isn’t very long
And it isn’t very wide
It’s got a little duck house
There’s a tree upon the bank
And on a summers evening
You can smell the septic tank
The views are truly stunning
To the south, the railway track
The slaughterhouse on one side
And the gasworks at the back
But the most outstanding feature
Of this pleasant little ait
There’s no water to surround it
Well, not now at any rate
Looking for the formal definition, structure, and history of this poetry form? Visit the Poetry Dictionary entry below. Then return to explore how PoetrySoup members bring the form to life through their own poems.