Friday, 11 January 2008

He diden't come at dawning;he woulden't come at noon;And out o' the tawny sunset,before the round moon would rise,When the road was a really gipsy ribben,looping the dark purple moor Red-coat came striding-striding-striding king George's men came striding up to the old old inn-door.Not even a single word to the rode landlord ,every single troop drank his beer instead,They gagged his daughter and put her on the foot of her narrow bed;Two troops knelt at Bess'es casement with their muskets at their side!There was

1 comment:

mr lea said...

Ameerah, this is a wonderful piece of work, well done.
I really like the way you have used the original poem to guide your ideas, adding in your own pieces of description and changing words to fit your ideas. I am very impressed with this work and look forward to reading your next post.