Tamworth

In Tamworth’s heart the river sings,
Where Tame and Anker gently mingle,
Old stone walls of the castle cling,
To whispers of a bygone tingle.

The market square awakes at dawn,
Stalls arrayed in bright bunting gay,
Fresh pies, the famed Tamworth pig, drawn,
While children chase the light of day.

At Snowdome’s peak the snowflakes gleam,
A winter dream beneath a roof,
Skaters carve a silvery stream,
While laughter rings, warm-hearted proof.

Through Tudor lanes and Georgian rows,
History breathes in every lane,
Tamworth stands – a jewel that glows,
In England’s gentle, enduring reign.