Tumbling paper, slick from chips,
Scatters across the quay.
The twirling tempest twists and whips
Up curls of soupy sea
Which bob amid the boisterous boats
Tethered to the pier.
They pull against their mooring ropes
And bucking prows appear
Like horses eager for a canter
Chafing at their bits.
Stay wires clink a tinkling banter
Whistling through the nets
Furiously flapping like laundered sheets
Hanging out to dry;
And blustery gusts on seagulls wings
Make it hard to fly.