Spa Fields chapel

In London town, so bright and grand, There lies a park, oh, quite renowned, Spa Fields is its name, you see, A place of joy and history. Long ago, in days of old, The park was vast, a sight to behold, Fourteen hectares, oh so wide, With open spaces, far and wide. But as time passed, things did change, The land was built upon, rearranged, In the 19th century, it did shrink, Now a small park, for all to think. Office workers come at noon, To enjoy the park, beneath the moon, They eat their lunch, with smiles so bright, And children play, with pure delight. In days of yore, Spa Fields was known, For riots fierce, and a community grown, The Owenites lived here, so free, From 1821 to 1824, you see. But fear not, my dear, for things did mend, The moral tone, it did ascend, With the Chapel built, so strong and true, By the Countess of Huntingdon, in 1777. So come along, to Spa Fields Park, Where history and joy leave their mark, A place of wonder, for all to explore, With stories to tell, forevermore. Random page: Te-yari