A farm,
Wind swept marshland,
River Tees,
Teeming with wild fowl.
Visionary Quakers,
Coal port foresaw,
Ore from Cleveland Hills
And an Ironopolis grows.
Infant Hercules
Coughed his first breath.
Master of such power and valour
Famed throughout the world.
At his prime,
Lulled by false promises
Stabbed in the back
By the Iron Lady.
She trampled
His body in high heels,
Proclaiming
Middlesbrough of iron and steel is no more.
Middlesbrough shall never be a ghost town,
The founding father's motto remembered,
Erimus - We shall be!
Still glints in the eyes of the workers,
On the polished surface
Of the steel river
As it winds its way to the sea.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
I don’t like middlesbrough