My bike-lights pry down shiny drives
When watery autumn evenings fall
Where faux-Victorian bollards stand
"Dunhagglin", three hundred grand.
Intruder lights snap on at night
To bathe the place in stalag white
The witch-hat gable, weathercock
And mock-colonial schoolhouse clock.
The carriage wheels built into gate
For barn converted into home
With panoramic window view
And weatherboards a deal too new.
That distant man who shut the bank
It's partly him you have to thank
For helping close the grocer's down
And drive their business out of town.
Into the maws of superstores
Who bleed the village into sleep
You're going to need a car you know
A mudless four-wheel? There you go.
Essential for the darkened lanes
And best of all with bull-bars on
To guard against pedestrians
The cyclists and equestrians.
Now driving will be half your life
The surgery, post office, pub
And to your station miles away
Then ride-on mower, on Saturday.
Your kids can haunt the village green
To numb themselves on nasty beer
Then out of minds, get out of hand
Before they move to bedsit-land.
No shadows to disquiet you here
But ghosts of yokels on the road
A most exclusive residence
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