Poet’s Corner


Thixendale / The Brook

I come from Yorkshire, born and bred,
Some people call me Sally.
I live “in t’ Crack”, or so it’s said
By dwellers in this valley.

By sixteen vales one can come down
To climb among the ridges,
Or travel to the nearest town
Ten miles across the bridges.

A tiny village, Thixendale,
Lost in a valley bottom,
Combining neatly with the vale;
Once seen, but ne’er forgotten.

By Sara Ward after “The Brook” by Alfred, Lord Tennyson:

I come from haunts of coot and hem,
I make a sudden sally,
And sparkle out among the fern
To bicker down a valley.

By thirty hills I hurry down
Or slip between the ridges
By twenty thorps, a little town,
And half a hundred bridges.

And out again I curve and flow
To join the brimming river,
For men may come and men may go,
But I go on forever.


Tourists come to Thixendale,
To see the valleys, and the vales.
There are two shops and a village hall,
Where tourists come along and call.

There is a cafe and B+B,
Where you can stop and have your tea.
We have a church, which is St. Mary’s,
We used to have an old milk dairy.

There are sheep, goats, horses and cows,
With all the grass we can allow.
In the summer the skies are blue,
With lots and lots of sunshine too.

There is the wolds way, which passes through,
With lots of walks for me and you.
All the birds sing everyday,
Even when we go to play.

Lots of cars pass through the street,
And the tourists we love to greet.
There is a pub where you can stop,
If you feel like you’re going to drop.

We have a web page you can view,
There are lots of things you can do.
There is a farm at the end of the street,
There are lots of faces you will meet.

These are all the pleasures that we need,
Many happy days we are going to lead.
There isn’t anything for me to fear,
Because everyday I’m going to be here.

By Shelly and Marie

The dog pound

I am sat here alone, thinking,
I listen but only hear blinking.
There is no other sound to be heard,
Everything just seems so absurd.

I just want everything to be okay,
But it isn’t when you hear everyone say.
“You don’t want him, he isn’t all there”
Oh, why is everyone so unfair.

I see the choker come past the doors,
They treat us like a pack of wild boars.
It stops out side the door of my cage,
It’s my turn next; it’s felt like an age.

I hear the sound of heavy feet,
I know its my death I now shall meet.
My paws are dragging along the floor,
I’m getting closer to that door.
I’m sat on a table there isn’t a sound,

Then everything just starts spinning round.
I know now there’s no turning back.
Everything, suddenly, has just gone black…

By Shelly and Marie