Mother, if only you could see it here,
Towering buildings that dwarf rainy streets,
Walls leak historic whispers which endear
Me to get lost among architect’s feats,
Although way loftier than our home town,
My comfort is in familiar and kind,
Cheery folk who, without a single frown,
Lift your spirits with hardy frames of mind
Yet my home appears to still call to me,
Like the echoes of a memory lost,
From city to river, from Tyne to sea,
Are left with all the ancient walls I’ve crossed,
And my uncertain future by the Clyde?
It’s as alluring as its watchful tide.
Categories: Other Writing