With pebbles beneath my feet, I walk out along The Spit,
The mists hang low.
The Fort and Lighthouse on its point, with rigidity they sit,
One repelling the foe.
The cannon vast, still positioned in their ports, are silent now,
Relics meantime.
Barrack rooms used through the wars, appear poignant somehow,
Ingrained with grime.
Grey stone watchtowers on this stronghold, have seen each siege,
And give a gloomy view.
Gun turrets added on at a later date to add some needed prestige,
And in defence took issue.
First built by order of Henry the Eighth, to guard his native shores
On these Keyhaven sands.
This stalwart fortress endures, open now to trippers on daily tours,
And still Hurst Castle stands.
© Ernestine Northover
Ernestine Northover
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/hurst-castle-keyhaven/
