Arbroath

In the Angus breeze where cliffs sigh low,
Arbroath clings to ancient stone and tide,
Where smoky fish curl in amber glow,
And monks once whispered, side by side.

The Abbey’s arches, weathered, stand,
Framing the North Sea’s restless choir,
Each vaulted rib a silent hand
That bears the echo of a nation’s fire.

From stone‑cobbled lanes to harbour’s quay,
The scent of salt and oak‑smoked pride,
Reminds us how the brave were free—
A Declaration, hearts open wide.

So walk the shore where gulls take flight,
Feel history pulse beneath your feet—
Arbroath, a jewel set in Britain’s light,
Where past and present gently meet.