FRIDAY 27th March

A sample poem from "We Were There...and other wartime poems"

SURVIVOR

For hundreds of years I’ve been standing tall,

watching everything coming and going.

Born from a fire, vicious and strong,

Then seeing a great city growing.

The crowning glory of my designer, Wren,

was the dome to which many would flock.

For miles around I’d be admired by all,

from Hyde Park to St Katherine’s Dock.

Kings and Queens have walked through my doors,

Nelson and Wellington buried.

In later days Charles and Diana

would walk down the aisle to get married.

In nineteen-forty all hell broke loose,

as the Nazis attempted to master.

Heinkels and Dorniers swirled overhead,

the strikes became stronger and faster.

I watched from above as missiles rained down,

taking buildings and people alike.

Massive fires blazing all round,

like the past returning to life.

The attacks continued for week after week,

but our boys were up for the fight.

A famous photo was taken of me,

With searchlights piercing the night.

After the war came a plan to rebuild.

This could have been centuries prior.

Rubble and carnage removed from the ground

for buildings, built bigger and higher.

A brand-new city arose from the ashes.

With my height I witnessed it all.

But people will still flock to see me again,

for I’m the survivor, the mighty St Pauls.