‘A canny way to make a living’

Oh noisy squawking seagulls
How deafening the sound
Swooping low scavenging
All the fishy tit-bits on the wooden briney ground

Ducking & diving at the keelboats below
Eager eyes on the fisherman’s waste that they may throw

All hand’s on the deck
Six burly men in waterproof attire
Contented with their daily catch 
Entwined in trawling nets of meshed thick wire

Dragged in from a calossal winch
At the rear of the boat
Edged with orange, plastic balls
To keep the massive net afloat

Another work day is over
So many tiresome hours spent at sea
These hardy souls return to their loved ones 
Father, uncles, sons of the same family

Fisherfolk on a seafaring mission
Bulging decks full of shoals of fish
E’er the fisherman’s eager dream vision

“A canny way to make a living”
Captain Dawson’s wife may say
In the footstep’s of their ancestors
With generation’s after them ‘Come what may’