Over the moon and far away,
Old prams hide in sheds growing dusty and grey.
But “Long Live the Pram!” the children decree,
Long live the pram with a scrub and steam.
Brought back to life for the next in line,
To stroll around Hackney as if in its prime.
A new day in its life but the same old streets,
A new face in the pram but familiar feet.
Saved from the shed and saved from the landfill,
A trusty old friend who suddenly now dazzles.
No need to buy new when I’m here to stay,
Do use me again so these memories don’t fade.