HARBOURS IN THE VILLAGE.
 
Estuary Home,
Still your beating Heart.
                    Rising,
Sharp,
When Song is in our Trees,
Over Beaches ‘n’ the Cliffs,
Now Tarka’s  in his Seas,
Purple is our Heather Moor,
When looks down,
                     Smugglers.
 
Run,
Harbours from the village,
Shines the moon,
Men at work,
Always to Toil,
And then to Yield,
With the tolling of their Season.
                      Lights dim,
 
When looks down,
Harbours from the village.
Night She shall speaks to no Man.