There are strangers in the field.
There is a child at the door.
Thre are eggs in the basket.
Drunkenness takes away sense.
Trains go by every day.
Every year my father cultivates a field of rice.
I am working in order to get money.
I am working so that my child may get clothes.
Sing your songs that I may hear them.
Sing your songs so that I may have a chance of hearing them.
KEITH ARMSTRONG
the jingling geordie
- keith armstrong
- whitley bay, tyne and wear, United Kingdom
- poet and raconteur