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