The North Shield piers let go of me,
two arms, a hugging like farewell,
as we sail on into the sea
and England once again
is over, soon to be a memory.
As in a last hasty embrace
the piers stretch out for me
while drift wood finds its way
from river Tyne to sea.
Maybe the wood will wash ashore
the island where I live.
A raindrop moves down over window glass,
the waves are all that we can see.
The ferry now is on its own, the Sun appears
above a sudden deep blue sky
and standing on the deck
I close my eyes after the last goodbye.