Folk on this coast go out with the ebbing tide,
Leave like old boats faint outlines in the mud:
Salty sampire stems refresh their fading blood,
Pickling through winter keeps their feelings blithe!
Green July's long days bring hours of mowing,
February warm fires when southeasters blow,
Font carved; churched oars and lobster pots
Represent the tarry fisherman's lot.
Black-headed gulls bicker along brown creeks,
Shrill oystercatchers background the saltings' music,
While scythe-winged swifts snatch their insect pick,
As curing sheds disperse their kipper reek.
Halyards clatter above the salt marsh maze
Beyond the whelk sheds at Brancaster Staithe.
In memory of Neil Huxter (Diocesan College, Rondebosch & University 1955), from his collection The Ebbing Tide.
Photo: Low tide in Mow Creek, Brancaster Staithe, Norfolk by Richard Humphrey, CC BY-SA 2.0, via Wikimedia Commons