On the Sussex Coast mid-point last century
Lapping waves of single purpose
Beckoned a boy to Dartmouth and to the taste of salt.
Sub-marine the knots to learn,
Emerging as the loyal servant of a silent capsule fish.
Such tales and whales- the Dolphin Mess!
The toasts, the boasts, the wit so sharp and dry,
Its ocean provenance a mystery.
Then Mobe at home his girls he’d join
For runs ashore on Bognor beach,
In dinky boats the windmill-ed Broads to roam.
Or to the Lock-jewelled Thames
The mooring and exploring to commence,
While Windsor’s picnic cruises
In wooden pleasure craft
Were but a twinkle in the captain’s dewy eye.
The years they rolled on with the tides
As on its truest path does water flow.
The sky-high view of Worthing’s Avenue
Affording daily reassurance
That still She rages, plays and rests on the horizon;
Powerful and constant,
Never other than Herself,
An unapologetic force of nature.
Yes, you have known the sea implicitly,
And now the sea knows you.