Andrew Little’s Rolls

No matter where I go,
no matter what I see,
My hearts always in Blantyre,
where I long to be.

Some things I’ve forgotten,
but one I’ve never forgot,
The smell o’ Little’s rolls,
especially when they’re hot.

Young ones nowadays,
don’t know what they’ve missed.
Why eating Little’s rolls,
is better than being kissed.

Whenever I saw Isa standing,
outside their front door,
Then round the back I would go,
when we wanted more.

The aroma from the Bakehouse,
especially from the ovens,
Was enough to make you think,
of buying another dozen.

I know things are not the same,
everything up the poles,
But as long as I’ll live,
I’ll never forget Andra Little’s Rolls.

James Cornfield 2012

~~~

If you have any Poems… Send them to Bill

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