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