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THE BRONTES OF HAWORTH
By Josie Whitehead
Haworth’s hill is hard to climb
But with tenacity and time,
You’ll reach, upon that Pennine hill,
A cemetery with daffodils.
High on the hill, as you’ll also see,
Is a parsonage near a cemetery.
This is a home of much acclaim
Where lived a family of fame.
Writers of great works lived here
And in the parsonage, quite clear,
They left their study tidy, clean -
Quite unlike my poetic scene.
At night, on Haworth’s cobbled street,
In darkened shadows, you may meet
Three sisters looking sadly stressed,
In 19th century costume dressed.
The Brontes, who had literary goals,
Now find no rest for their dear souls
And, fleeing those, from far and wide,
Seek sanctuary in which to hide.
You writers, who lay claim to fame,
Make sure that things won’t be the same -
And please check well before you die
That there’s good parking quite nearby.
Copyright on my poems