Dundela

Dundela
where the terraced rows breathe a quiet pride,
red‑brick facades lining avenues that hum
with the soft clatter of tram‑wheels on rain‑slicked cobbles.

Here the echo of children’s laughter spills
from schoolyard gates onto Dundela Avenue,
mingling with the scent of fresh‑baked soda bread
from the corner shop whose window displays
a jar of homemade marmalade, glossy as sunset.

The cricket ground, a green sanctuary,
holds summer evenings when bats crack like distant thunder,
and spectators, wrapped in woolly scarves,
cheer beneath a sky that shifts from steel‑blue
to the deep violet of twilight.

Beyond the leafy lanes, the River Lagan murmurs,
its waters carrying tales of shipyards and steel,
while the distant hills of County Antrim stand
as silent guardians over this modest neighbourhood.

In Dundela, time feels both steady and tender—
a place where everyday streets become verses,
and every doorway invites you to pause,
to listen to the heartbeat of Belfast’s east,
steady as the tide, warm as a neighbour’s smile.