On which paradise will they embark from this pier?
To which shores, rocks, and new frontier,
From which Southside slums - shabby, shaky shelters -
Are they going to sail, the new Pilgrim Fathers?
Through which narrow portico will they cross the threshold
Of the Eldorado they freakishly behold?
On which Mayflower vessel will they flee thraldom?
Through which forced labour will they earn freedom?
Of which new worlds are they pregnant in the West?
Which new conflicts will put them to the test?
Which settlement, charter and agreement,
Original democratic “Compact” will save the migrants?
Will they ever meet their drover to Dover?
Will they ever knock the old order over?
Will they found their Patuxet, the men that the world sidesteps?
Yet every life must reach its Mayflower steps!
On this pier hover figures lean and bland.
A new tide of events will sweep them to England.
The new world has reverted to the ancient Plymothian land.
The cycle is going full circle in the old Fatherland.