YOUR POEMS

Exile’s Lament

I come from the mists of a land far away

To the tracts where my roots shall ever lay;

Shall I know them now as I knew them then,

This still proud home of such still proud men?

Its wealth was wrought in ships and coal

And the fisherfolk who trawled the shoal;

The surf, the sands and rivers wide And those hills and glades of the countryside.

For this is mine, ’twixt Tweed and Tyne

Where memories haunt from a childhood time; Though the years may come and years may go,

I shall remember them all in my evening’s glow:

The sweep of the rock-strewn barren fell,

The tales which the shepherds sit and tell,

The noise of the shipyards down the Tyne

And the twang of the Tweed fishers’ salmon line. Where the wide and the shallow rivers wind,

There homesteads, dales and meadows find; Where swallows still dart across the sky

Ere the summertime fades to finally die.

Where seagulls skim the whitehorse wave Where castles still shelter the hearts of the brave. This wondrous land of the beautiful strand

So softly gentle, majestic and grand.

Those howling winds and the stinging rain

Arise ere the sunshine plays again; Where the rainbows arch and the chill sea mist

All meet in a magic Northumbrian tryst.

The song of the Tyne and the song of the Tweed

Oft’ times are the strains we exiles need,

Sweet symphonies, pomp and circumstance Recapture our dreams of youth’s romance.

I’ll return to the mists of a land far away, Refreshed, where this exile resides today

By the sights and sounds ’twixt Tweed and Tyne,

For here is a land which is truly mine.

Ian C Gray Wollaton Park