North Antrim Coast – THE GIRONA


Beyond western hills that fiery core,

Disappears once more;

Its golden sword to the heart of me,

Glitters on a placid sea.


Like an arrow to where I stand,

On basalt outcrop from the land,

Where a Spanish ship, proud and tall,

Fell victim to the storm and squall.


Majestic Galleon of a foreign clime,

Fought the tempest in that time;

Riding the waves, it searched for lee,

On the unknown cruel sea.


Captain and Sailors, stalwart crew,

Also there, Soldiers too;

Clung to that mighty ship of oak,

As the planking gave and broke.


Cannon and debris along the shore,

Scattered on the sandy floor;

Broken spars and coils of rope,

Floating there, offered hope.


That ship is here, beneath the wave,

And those men; this their grave;

Oh! Sword of light o’er fickle sea,

Guard them here for eternity.


Monty Alexander 23.11.97



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