They have all done the steps of the rail,
Except for the ladies of the dock and the shipmaster and the fish that just swoops,No one ever swims at this time of year, or any other time,
Time is just getting its feet back,
It is teeming in the dark alley ways,
And near the country side, which is in a strange green,
The new people are large in step and posture, and are braver than the last,
But will not know of the Real,
They like walking in a medieval city,
There are still trees and river outside,
The gate is closing, the day is nearing,
And the great fish swoops past the harbour island entrance where they all used to live
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