The Last Refugee

And it's also the end of broadcasting for Thursday
The end of broadcasting for 1970
Seven to severe hail, nine decreasing six in Humber later
Rain then showers, moderate to poor becoming good
Southwesterly, six to gale eight, occasionally, severe gale nine
At the third stroke, it will be 11:24 and 50 seconds
At the third stroke, it will be 11:25, precisely
This is the British Broadcasting Corporation

At the third stroke it will be 8:57, precisely
In north southwesterly, four or five otherwise variable rainfall
Mainly northerly in the southeast
A happy new year to you all
At the third stroke, it will be 11:25, precisely
Goodnight, everyone

Lie with me, now
Under lemon tree skies
Show me the shy slow smile you keep, hidden by warm brown eyes
Catch the sweet hover of lips just barely apart
And wonder at loves, sweet ache and the wild beat of my heart
Oh, rhapsody tearing me, apart
And I dreamed I was saying goodbye to my child
She was taking a last look, at the sea

Wading through dreams
Up to our knees in warm ocean swells
While bathing belles
Soft beneath hard bitten, shells punch their iPhones
Erasing the numbers of redundant lovers, and search the horizon
And you'll find my child
Down by the shore
Digging around, for a chain or a bone
Searching the sand for a relic washed, up by the sea

The last refugee