That tiny bed-sitAbove Brompton CemeteryMy many young dreamsBelow my windowAn old lady tends a graveAll hopes and dreams flownJust off Brompton RoadMy bohemian love nestJust six pounds a weekSaturdays up WestIn folk clubs and jazz cellarsLondon’s winter sceneOn Sunday morningsDrinking Maxwell House coffeeFrom old coffee jarsPoring over mapsPlanning next summer’s journeysFarewell love-makingOn every journeyThe horizon beckoned meCome… come… come awaySo the road call’d meWhile one small part looked backwardsFarewell Brompton Road
Copyright © Top Photo and Words Res JFB 16th August 2012
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