Blind eyes turn towards the sea, And through a mist of age and time A tiny speck which once a flame Pleads to answer loud maroons Which call 'Distress'. Gnarled hands, Hard as oak, shake, yet once threw Lines, and pulled an oar to save A hundred souls; the spirit calls But ageing limbs sadly hinder, No more to thunder down the pier, To wrap about the oilskin coat, And welcome jacket buoyed to float In this a life-boat's lonely fight Against the sea.

* Inspired by a late member of the Cromer life-boat..