This is the weathercock of London by Roy Collins

This is the weathercock of London
this thumb of land pointing into the Thames. The river weaves around this almost island sharply
a peninsula with the power of earth to change tides,
catch the wind full blast
and sore the skin. Birds flock its shores
scavenge the tidal mud for food and curios
fly inland for safety when black clouds thunder
and the giants of Canary Wharf stalk the sky.

But was it always there? What bedrock
bent the flow of water? The records recall
a marshy land flooded by tides
a treacherous area somehow reclaimed into pasture
by those who knew how water could be tamed.

Today a different reclamation rescues the land
the ravages of industry, its poisons and decay removed,
and as life returns re-strengthened by its absence
a new community is born on concrete and bricks
and at the Point a dome whose spider derricks
held a Millennium of fun and celebration
unlike the hanging cages along the water-line
that swayed with corpses of would-be pirates
whilst further away king and parliament fought
with bloody resolution a battle of ideas
civil rights and freedom.