Here you will find the Poem A Pier-Head Chorus of poet John Masefield
Oh I'll be chewing salted horse and biting flinty bread, And dancing with the stars to watch, upon the fo'c's'le head, Hearkening to the bow-wash and the welter of the tread Of a thousand tons of clipper running free. For the tug has got the tow-rope and will take us to the Downs, Her paddles churn the river-wrack to muddy greens and browns, And I have given river-wrack and all the filth of towns For the rolling, combing cresters of the sea. We'll sheet the mizzen-royals home and shimmer down the Bay, The sea-line blue with billows, the land-line blurred and grey; The bow-wash will be piling high and thrashing into spray, As the hooker's fore-foot tramples down the swell. She'll log a giddy seventeen and rattle out the reel, The weight of all the run-out line will be a thing to feel, As the bacca-quidding shell-back shambles aft to take the wheel, And the sea-sick little middy strikes the bell.
