I headed south back to a desert state of mind,
Should have looked back, but I didn’t look back, not even one time.
It was farewell to the ‘Merry City’ and goodbye to the ‘Westgate Run.’
I flew away, seduced by money and sun.
I left those ninety-nine arches far behind,
Yet it’s not true what they say, out of sight out of mind,
It was farewell to the ‘Merry City' and goodbye to the ‘Westgate Run,’
now I’m over here, I’m not sure where I belong.
An old Duke of York, a Mulberry bush, in a song and a rhyme,
All coined in this place by sharp minded folk, long ago in their prime.
When I say farewell to the ‘Merry City’, goodbye to the ‘Westgate Run,’
that tug of nostalgia unlaces my heart strings, one by one.
I was born in this city, truth be told I didn’t stay too long,
but often when I’m alone, I wonder if I’ll ever find my way home.
No more farewell to the ‘Merry City’ or goodbye to the ‘Westgate Run,’
Life slips off the veil and the last thirty years have all gone.
A. McTiernan
https://www.973-eht-namuh-973.com/Alche ... 73%20.html
Wakefield, Upper Westgate by Louis Hubbard Grimshaw
1870 – 1944 – The Hepworth Wakefield
Alfred Moody’s, Bread Street, Wakefield by Keith Blackburn 1966