Brass bric-a-brac in wicker wov’n
to hang ‘midst ships that, barrel-bound,
spinsail through clutter-seas;
‘scopes scout the ocean’s reach.
Of the Bam’bruh walls, the wind tells tale,
as o’er the grass-held dunes it whips.
A-flung the ring-of-life in bronze
‘bove bulb ‘bove bench by tabletop;
anachronistic song
on ray’dyo waves a-borne.
Best bitter of the bar in half-pint
drinks down, down by Bam’borough’s walls.
Cuthbert’s hermitage surrounded:
seals slipslide ‘n slumber strandside.
‘Cross the water – Bam’bur
stonepeaks above the surf.
Everestablishing the north, where
th’Danelaw drew blood, it towers there.
william altoft 