Docks

Two up, two down in a North East town
On a street of grey not far from the Bay

Fishing boats line up on the quay
And people come around to see

The ships that sail on down the line
As foaming waves break in the Brine

The sound of  hammers, steel and steam
Ring from the Docks, through fog unseen

A shipyard horn howls in the night
The Arc lights of the welders bright

Then creeps the morning over the hillside
As the waves roll in with the coming tide

The sound of many booted feet
Shuffling down along the street

To the dockside where they quietly wait
For the foreman to spread wide the gates

Men of skill now in the past
Raised the ships from keel to mast

Now but a fading memory
Of things that are no longer here

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