The Swampscott Dory by Ray J. Whittier

The aged dory abandoned in the snow,
Remembering working days of long ago.
When he would wait by the fishing shacks
And the  Grand Banks  would call him back.

He'd leave the sands of Blaney Beach,
The crashing surf his bow would breach.
Burly fishermen with their workday load
Across rough waters his flat bottom rode.

At the end of a long fishing day,
He'd head back, gulls leading the way.
Back to the twilit shores of Swampscott,
His hull full of cod and haddock caught.

Pitchforks flew, fish split and hung,
Drying in the next day's sun.
Salted fish stored in barrels round,
He'd come to rest as buoy bells sound.

Time moves on, so he was told,
As he dreamt about the days of old.