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Poems of Annie McLean
The River Speaks

 The river speaks of times gone by
In thunder rushing down from high.
She tells a tale so deep and wide
Of power held within the Clyde,
Harnessed and used in mills nearby

Making cotton then onto dye
In colours pleasing to the eye.
At New Lanark, mill of Strathclyde,
The river speaks.

Man, woman, child working each try
To make a living, not to die,
So each in their work takes great pride
With cloth to weave and shuttle to guide.
Amid the sounds that amplify,
The river speaks.

Annie McLean 21.08.00

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