In Haverhill town square

In muggy warmth, the market square
Is crossed by girls with wondrous hair
And mothers chiding errant tots
And stiffened men in shuffling knots.
Beneath the church’s sandstoned tower
With sentinels to guard the hour
The yew tree and the willow sway
In homage to this rhythmic day
With jackdaws squatting on the roof,
Imperious and quite aloof.

‘Tis Middle England, soft and calm,
Far from war and death and harm,
With cute cafés that sell high teas
And yes, building societies
And betting shops and lifeboat shops
And shops that stock both socks and mops.
But visitor, beware the ire
Exhaled if one should stoke its fire.