By The Fleet Waters
by George Davey of Portland.

I love to walk along the path
Which leads beside the Fleet,
Remembering the local lads
Who there I chanced to meet,
To swim across the ebb or flood
Dictated by the tide,
When vying in those waters deep
To reach the other side,
But that was oh so long ago,
Nigh sev'nty years or more,
When in seclusion lived a man
Upon that Chesil shore.
Depending on those very gifts
Which nature brought to hand,
The fish and timber for his need,
That West Bay would oft land.
His home it was a boat upturned,
To shelter from the gale,
The doorway covered in its way
By remnants of a sail.
Now many of those pals have gone,
Those characters I knew,
And with their passing I have lost
Companions good and true.