I remember the days when our bread man
Delivered his wares in a horse drawn van,
Down our street, clop clippety clop
His horse would come at a fair old trot;
French sticks and brown bread, iced buns and cakes
All smelling delicious, all freshly baked.
On hot summer days my grandma was ready
With buckets of water for hot thirsty Neddy;
Then on one very hot humid day
Due to great thirst he got carried away,
He came round the corner lickety split
The smell of the water in his nostrils did sit;
At a gallop he came, down the street he sped
Bypassing the neighbours all waiting for bread;
On reaching our gate, he screeched to a stop
The water gulped down till we thought he would pop.
When after a while he had drunk his fill
The delivery of bread was continued until
At the end of our street he always would drop
This large steaming pile with a great plop;
A pile of manure he left in a heap
For a bucket and shovel my grandma would leap;
But I was the one who was sent down to scoop
Amid giggles and laughter, the hot horsie poop.

Jackie S Brooks
18 July 2003