… L 🪶 J …
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I feel it call—
not loud, not urgent,
but constant…
a pull beneath my footsteps
leading me back home.
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Nottingham—
you sit in my bones,
steady, known…
every street a heartbeat
I never really left.
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I remember—
brick, lace, coal dust stories
in the air…
a city built from struggle
and the pride of standing tall.
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Football roars—
through crowded Saturdays,
voices rise…
while cricket hums softer,
like summer stitched in time.
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By the Trent—
I slow down, breathe it in,
finding myself…
water carrying whispers
of every year I’ve lived.
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Goose Fair nights—
lights dancing on faces,
sugar and smoke…
toffee apples, laughter,
childhood spinning in colour.
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Stone lions wait—
unchanged, unshaken,
watching all…
while deer move quiet and free,
like secrets the city keeps.
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History speaks—
Saxon roots, Norman echoes,
stories burn…
Robin’s shadow still lingers
in corners we half-believe.
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They used to say—
six girls to every boy…
maybe true…
but it’s the friends, the moments,
that made this place my own.
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Because I miss—
more than streets and skylines,
more than sights…
I miss the voices that knew me
before I knew myself.
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And maybe soon—
or maybe someday still,
I’ll Walk Back…
not as I was when I left,
but still belonging the same.
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I am from here—
no matter the distance,
no matter when…
a Nottingham heart beats on,
calling me home again.
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… L 🪶 J …
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By Paul Baldry (LongJohn)