Warwick

In Smith Street there is a house with a lilac door
the walls are of white of its purpose I’m unsure
It never fails to catch my eye as I pass on my walk
just down from the castle this dwelling like chalk

I breathe in the Butts and glance at number three
I‘ve teased my mates about this old town boundary
They could surely not be Warwickian' if born at the Cape
but descendants from vagabonds who’d pillage and rape

The old gas works at the Saltisford is a building to see
you know five hundred worked opposite at a hat factory
Near the start of the cut that went all the way to Brum
my beautiful Warwick by gas light must have been fun

On the common the jockeys race horses regal and royal
around hillocks and greenery of the old navigation’s spoil
Though not strictly true its known as the Saltisford Arm
with narrow boats of roses and castles it’s so full of charm

Tall and proud the blue-bricked Governor’s house greets me
the old gaol now gone its roots left in the small blue dairy
Across the locks that lead to heaven the Cape of Good Hope
and through blue bells in the wood and up devils rock slope 

Though I know this old castle town is steeped in history,
It’s Guy's Cliffe house view from the bridge that pleases me
Simply tossing a coin with a wish watching it spin and spill
and the sound of rushing and falling water at the Saxon mill