Mitchell wrote history across this sky,
where dockers climb and seagulls fly
between the cranes that guard each ship.
Their rattling cables rise and dip,
as metal boxes that cross the sea
are stacked in towers beside the quay.
Hollowed ships are filled once more,
just like the liner that went to war.
For this city has seen the old and new,
from Pilgrim Fathers to QEII.
Canute stood here in soaking boots,
they sailed to Agincourt, the troops,
from the shore where flowers were laid,
when Titanic and locals slipped away.
And today that history is all around,
while across the waves a different sound
as flickering flames burn through the mist,
and the crimson Ferry slowly twists
to cross dark waters late at night.
A St Mary’s evening burning bright,
reminding fans of Bobby and Matt
and all the other heroes that
wore the shirt and played a part,
forever etched in the city’s heart.
Ted still waves and holds a gaze,
a legend from the bygone days
of liners docking in the port.
The film stars stepping from New York
would pose for photos by the ship,
and this thriving city was a vital trip
for Henry Ford who stepped off here
to launch his early car career.
Then the bombers came at night
and set the city burning bright.
But the people and the docks survived.
The culture and the business thrived.
And now the name is known across
the world through football and the docks
with a grand future, present and past,
standing proud like a clipper’s mast,
putting Southampton on the map.
Where the Solent waves gently lap
and wash in another morning tide,
as the City tugs at dawn will guide
another ship towards the quays,
in the city known across seven seas.