Rye (Cinque Port-Sank Port) Poem by Gabriel SimpsonLaw

When vigorous the north wind blows across the steppe as far as Kent
Victorious his power shows in falling tiles and trees full bent
Then cold I wander to the line where saxon viewed the sea at will
And over marshy distance gaze toward red citadel on hill

Where streets slide steep and cobbled hard fast tumble down to inland port
And fort and gate and church and yard perch high above as if in thought
Of bounteous days when sails drew near to trade for wool and local ware
Where now the weekend coxwains steer their tiny boats with little care

The Mermaid’s comfort for the body, Saint Mary’s comfort for the soul
The Landgate and the Ypres Tower were raised here to defend the whole
In commerce was her fortune made then lost again in nature’s course
In silt for miles once maritime marooned inland by Triton’s force

Ancient are the shepherd’s stories tales of smugglers, sailors gone
In her splendour still enduring when her citizens are done
And though small majestic glory proud imposing on the land
Whether red in summers sunlight - rosey white in winters hand