by Ian Colville
The Angel of the North, by Antony Gormley
I met a traveller down from Gateshead Heath
Who said: It's tall with outstretch'd wings of steel
Standing on Low Fell. Nearby underneath,
A half forgotten mineshaft lies, where coal
In darkness once was mined, by men whose teeth
Shone white from blacken'd visage where they grin'd
By hard coal face, oppress'd for what it's worth
In toil and sweat to fill an early grave.
And on the pedestal shall words appear:
“I am Geordiemonstrous, angel of the north:
Look on my role, ye tourist, and rejoice!”
My gesture will endure: embrace the past
And grasp the future; change the only choice
If hopes and fears of man be crown'd at last.