The Last Refugee

And it's also the end of broadcasting for Thursday
 The end of broadcasting for 1970
 Seven to severe hail, nine decreasing six in Humber later
 Rain then showers, moderate to poor becoming good
 Southwesterly, six to gale eight, occasionally, severe gale nine
 At the third stroke, it will be 11:24 and 50 seconds
 At the third stroke, it will be 11:25, precisely
 This is the British Broadcasting Corporation
 At the third stroke it will be 8:57, precisely
 In north southwesterly, four or five otherwise variable rainfall
 Mainly northerly in the southeast
 A happy new year to you all
 At the third stroke, it will be 11:25, precisely
 Goodnight, everyone
 Lie with me, now
 Under lemon tree skies
 Show me the shy slow smile you keep, hidden by warm brown eyes
 Catch the sweet hover of lips just barely apart
 And wonder at loves, sweet ache and the wild beat of my heart
 Oh, rhapsody tearing me, apart
 And I dreamed I was saying goodbye to my child
 She was taking a last look, at the sea
 Wading through dreams
 Up to our knees in warm ocean swells
 While bathing belles
 Soft beneath hard bitten, shells punch their iPhones
 Erasing the numbers of redundant lovers, and search the horizon
 And you'll find my child
 Down by the shore
 Digging around, for a chain or a bone
 Searching the sand for a relic washed, up by the sea
 The last refugee