It's in the order of their hedgerows It's in the way their curtains open and close It's in the look they give you down their nose All part of decency's jigsaw I suppose Sunday church and they look fetching Saturday night saw him retching over our fence Bang the wall for me to turn down I can see them with their stern frown As they dispense the kind of look that says they're Perfect.
I have a passion for ballads. * * * They are the gypsy children of song, born under green hedgerows in the leafy lanes and bypaths of literature, in the genial Summertime.Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
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