Black Dyke Mill Chimneys Poem by C Richard Miles

Tall, wagging, admonishing fingers, the smokeless mill-chimneys still stand
At rest, wearisome work ended, like sentinels guarding the ground,
Surveying and sighing in chorus over once-productive, industrial land
On Queensbury’s exalted height. You can still hear the Black Dyke Band
But marvel that their namesake owners, where discount warehouses gather round
Tall, wagging, admonishing fingers, the smokeless mill-chimneys still stand.
Victorian values are now redundant as modern-day practice steers the hand
To work in production-line factories while property developers are found
Surveying and sighing in chorus over once-productive, industrial land.
Once in a fit of enterprise, the forward-looking town planners planned
To erect in cheerless concrete twenty-storey tower blocks which sound
Tall. Wagging, admonishing fingers, the smokeless mill-chimneys still stand
Unsurrounded, since building tall, soulless structures seems to be banned
And no rival, resplendent, replacement monarchs are waiting to be crowned
Surveying and sighing in chorus over once-productive, industrial land.
So still these monuments can attract our vision and continue to command,
Overlooking the town, now Dame Fortune has refused and frowned,
Tall, wagging, admonishing fingers, the smokeless mill-chimneys still stand
Surveying and sighing in chorus over once-productive, industrial land.