Falkirk

Falkirk, where the Forth slips gently past,
Old stone bridges whisper of centuries past.
The Wheel turns slow, a steel‑spoked prayer,
Lifting boats as if they were air.

From the Antonine Wall’s quiet mound
To the clang of industry’s sound,
History and hope entwine—
In every lane, in every line.

Rain‑kissed cobbles gleam like pewter,
Pubs pour warmth, a friendly feature.
In Falkirk’s heart, both old and new,
A Scottish spirit rings true.