Deserted stand the quays,
Once so rich with life;
Rusting adornments to a general decay.
They stand deceptively proud:
Unwilling the metal that once shone so bright
To pass into obscurity.
I find them beautiful in their demise.
Tides beyond count have swept on by,
Many more still shall,
Until that last russet fleck is drawn towards the North Sea.
No last hurrah;
No more use for they,
A goodbye to the past with no proof that there even was one.
Only in memory will their grandeur remain
Until even that fades away.