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Looking down to Foreland Point
I am reminded of times past
Conger eels the size of a man
Caught in the wreck off the coast there.
Lobsters and mackerel fresh from the sea
The mackerel caught on the tide line
Cooked, fried in butter for breakfast,
Their colour still on them
Lobster salad for lunch
The lobster caught in the bay, or down the coast
By Lobster Paul who lives now on a boat
In the harbour at the weir
Old Tom in the corner with his bottomless tankard of Guinness
Shove ha’penny in the bar
The Post Office van that went to Culbone
before the path fell into the sea
A’a’a’Arthur with his stammer
His love of the red deer
They’re be’be’belling up the combe
We go searching in the car
Jack a lamb under each arm
On his pony that he broke when he was 76
In the bar, Jack and Fred drink Bass for lunch
The pony tied under the archway waits to take Jack home
Now nature is overtaking us
The paths and the hedge grow wild
Fallow deer run along the track no longer used
Banks go untrimmed, untouched, untamed