When the sun rose

I’d go down to the dock,

Sand under my toes,

As I sat on a rock.

And watched as the fishing boats

All came home,

Strong men in overcoats,

Jumping into the foam,

And bringing their catch,

Safe into shore,

Bream for the potlach*,

Sole, oysters and more.

And I would go down,

And choose my own fish,

Then back into town,

To make us a dish…

*potlach is a celebration or party
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