Stukkie-vir-stukkie gaan die ou Laaiplek tot niet.
Net die mis, die noordewind, die sand vol oumens-grafte, en die veldblomme vertel nog.
Nossob, Drakenskop, Stormkop… een na die ander…
“They pull out her cables and hack off her hatches
Too poor to be wasteful with pity or time
They swarm on her carcass with torches and axes
Like a whale on a bloody shoreline
Stripped off her pillars, her stays and her stanchions
When there’s only her bones on the wet poison land
Steel ropes will drag her with winches and engines
‘Til there’s only a stain on the sand…”
Mark Knopfler, Far from the clyde
