Near to Scarborough bay
There’s a scar, burrowed away
By underground streams
Which have undermined dreams
Of pen-pushers, now pen shunners:
Those poor, retired pensioners
Who thought they were secure,
But now ought to seek your
Sympathy, for homes on Knipe Point
Teeter, bones on knifepoint,
For the treacherous land’s lied,
Caused a treacherous landslide
And they finally shall be rueing
Deep financial ruin.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem