Oh, they who live in Fistard now have not

The urgent need as once upon a time

To seek protection from a lawless batch,

For in this fuchsia-haunted spot,

Perched on the cliffs where sea-birds wheel and climb,

They leave their houses open, door on latch.

Here on this southern promenade each cot

Fronting the sea looks down the maritime

Ten thousand miles between the lands to catch

Vision of ice where one son sailed.  Forgot

The days when every man could dance and thatch,

Forgot the mines and minerals, the whips,

The wrecking lamps that lured the hapless ships,

And Martynson was Warden of the Watch !


Mona’s Herald     7.3.61