Portland Court stands timelessly astride the cliff,
Surveying the Irish Sea from a vantage point on the rocks,
Once proud, it used to stand alone, but has now 
Been dwarfed, in the shadow of younger, taller blocks.

This place has the aura of an ageing ocean-going liner
That ran aground; and left behind an elegant wreck -
Port-holes in rich wood doors, many shining bronze
Plaques that grace walls on the upper and lower decks.

And some of the residents here seem suspended
In time; for, dutifully, resisting change, they have seen
To it that this vessel still sails, full steam ahead
Down under, to the Med, Azores or Caribbean.

But other passengers on board appear a motley crew,
Types who absent-mindedly find rougher waters,
Folk lacking the class of the bygone age; too coarse,
Inexperienced; some as brash as rich men's daughters.

Yet Portland Court still remains, clinging on defiantly
To its glorious past; it witnesses each new generation
Of modern types who board to take the place of
Older residents, anchored at their final destination.

Once again, the great vessel prepares to set sail,
With stalwarts who will steer their beloved ship,
Defending the spirit of yesteryear, and hopes held high
Of mooring safely home from another imagined trip.

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