Old Belfast

OLD BELFAST No hooters belch and screech in the mornings anymore Industry has disappeared from the City’s working core The Factories have all closed their gates a long, long time ago Now silent shadows fill the space where workers used to go Steam cranes bow across the lough, an entry on a page Decayed tired buildings line the Docks, relics of an age Rows of broken windows where he silence trickles out As nature now takes over where grass and nettles sprout The workshops have been stripped and only carcasses remain Moss grows on the floor where the roof lets in the rain Miles of red brick walls which somehow now look grey Blackened muddy puddles where singed old timbers lay Grand imposing structures, much too big for modern use Now crumpling and eroded from dereliction and abuse Spectres from a Victorian age now roam these soulless lanes You can hear their whistles on the wind. Their presence still remains