We gathered once more in the old place
Under a vapour trail sky
Memories dancing through our minds
Of the days that have passed us by;
These are the Trow rocks of South Shields
Standing stark and bare, cold and proud
Drifting with time towards oblivion
Hidden away from the crowd
The crumbled concrete standing ragged
Where defences once braced against invader
The tumbling and scarred rock faces
With time and tide the degrader
Soft clumps of velvety grasses
To bound over, clamber and climb
A slice of the silver moon overlooking
The hollows of mud and grime
An adventure, an escape, a secret place
Set in bitter winds, far away from the world
Where the dunes sit limp and exhausted
Their fingers round timber balks curled
The gun emplacement implacable
It's barrel pointing out to the sea
Aiming at no-one in particular
But thinking it defends you and me
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem