A poem from Great Yarmouth 📍 #Shorts

追加: 2026-06-02

[00:00:00]January.

[00:00:01]Cobweb morning.

[00:00:03]The children gather at the cracked aquifer in the vicar's garden.

[00:00:08]Chickweed green and deep, the pool refuses sky, but bubbles, breathes, and births a seaside town. Dribbles down the drift bosky under hedges to blackwater channels, it deeks and sedges.

[00:00:25]Duffled, the winter children dream instead of penny tickets, the golden sands where showgirls fly from cannons twice a day, some 50 miles away.

[00:00:37]Many fields of baffled corn to cross before this drindle wets those nets and pulls on its Yarmouth mittens.

[00:00:45]Hunch weather.

[00:00:47]Hedge betties bicker.

[00:00:50]Plow joggers curse the roke, but up comes water.

[00:00:57]Beneath its algal skin, the pool is black as a midnight mirror.

[00:01:02]Scarfed, their cozy classroom lost, the children dream instead of acrobats and somersaults, of the golden mile where fear tiptoes the rope, and barrow boys sell toffee apple kisses.

[00:01:17]Six months till summer.

[00:01:21]The rise becomes a river, slipping through the fingers of eel catchers and coypu men, reaching for dream town where the nights are neon, long and sweet the days where the sign on the pier reads, "All are welcome."