Oh we do like to be beside the seaside


Down on the front, at the end of the harbour's claws,
the old man sits and directs his beam
across the broiling waters to the distant strains
of his youth.
Behind him, unseen hordes march down the
Military Road and head, "eyes right !", past
George's point.
Gulls cry like the cheering of ghostly children
and down in the port the p.a. blares away,
like some long-forgotten drill master.

Down on the front, perusing the harbour's claws,
boys play and girls sit, enchanting.
Yet, by the old man, they restore his youth.
His withered hands are strong yet, and
his heart still beats in time to the drum.
The children play and he is glad,
to have joined for a while in their fun,
oblivious to the beating of the Hun's drum.