Here you will find the Poem Westland Row of poet James Stephens
Every Sunday there's a throng Of pretty girls, who trot along In a pious, breathless state (They are nearly always late) To the Chapel, where they pray For the sins of Saturday. They have frocks of white and blue, Yellow sashes they have too, And red ribbons show each head Tenderly is ringleted; And the bell rings loud, and the Railway whistles urgently. After Chapel they will go, Walking delicately slow, Telling still how Father John Is so good to look upon And such other grave affairs As they thought of during prayers.
