Where I'm From Poetry Contest Third Place Winner

 Where I’m From – Sam Jordan

The cobble-brick square, the limestone street,

The uneven concrete pavement, crackling beneath my feet.

The tearful rain and frost-clad meadows,

The house sparrows’, song uplifts and echoes.

Stamford is undeniably beautiful when fall begins,

But nothing comes close to this pulchrous town in the spring.

The persistent fog ‘n’ damp morning dew,

At the foot of the hill, makes for quite a remarkable view.

Specks of rain dampen the moist ‘n’ soggy grass,

As I gaze out of the window at this miserable forecast.

Alas, it is not all gloom in my pretty little town,

For I love the rain, it’ll never make me frown.

Church bells ring, calling at every hour,

Mosaic stone-glass windows climb up the spiral church tower.

A quiet smile on my face, and a shiver down my spine,

My heart so full, that this little town is mine.

The wet ‘n’ lonesome man,

Sitting silently on the graveyard bench,

The marketmen sell their fruits,

Dry, under their widespread tents.

A primordial ooze, I sink back into,

As the rain hits the cobble-brick,

The lonesome man is me, happy as can be,

Reminiscent of an old-fashioned flick.

People crowding down the streets of old,

A smile on every face, as sweet bags never go unsold.

The bitter winds ‘n' gentle rain make it rather cold,

“wear a coat Sam”, I didn’t, despite being told.

The sound of the train steaming down the tracks,

My heartbeat rising, unable to relax,

The birds sing again, deep breath, I can think of only one thing,

How I long to be back in my pretty little town, Stamford, in the spring.