Café stop for breakfast
Just like all those years ago
On the way to work at Edwinstowe
Same as it ever was, to the last
The kitchen staff are busy as hell
Doing this, that and the other
Surely grey haired Nellie is the mother
Of the washing up daughter under her spell
And the road, to the race track
Quiet today, but not for long
Sadness, but soon to be a song
All that silent nostalgia; watch my back
Don’t forget fishing men, and holidaymakers
Looking for an early autumn break
With sausage, bacon and steak
A poetry stop with or without any takers
