Across the square of towns old-gold
A stroll up steps to Carnegie’s soul
A caressing hand on door-frame-wood
Graced by an awe as truly one should
Everyone's a Batley Poet
Everyone's a Batley Poet
Across the square of towns old-gold
A stroll up steps to Carnegie’s soul
A caressing hand on door-frame-wood
Graced by an awe as truly one should