Song of the North Sea

I am the Celt on the cautious edge of the unfrozen swamps.

I am the Roman, bringing bridges, laws and lamentations.

I am the ferryman laden with the souls of the departed.

I am the Frisian, Angle, Saxon, Jute, my blood mixed in a common root.

I am the Viking who will slaughter men to make them saints.

I am the Flanders weaver, the Hansa hawker, the Orange prince of Protestants.

I am the plague, the oysterman, the captain of the herring fleet.

I am the opiated Chinaman, the Russian Jew.

I am the road to riches and the hungry scum of Dickens' tales.

I am the Dreadnought on the Dogger Bank, the flightpath of the incendiary Blitz.
I am the Windrush and the Polish plumber, the trafficked child, the oligarch

My mouth is wide, my banks are rich,

My bed is warm and waiting for anybody drifting west…