Poem, origin unknown, found in handwritten notes of the late Frank Willmott.

Buxom barges drifting,
Outward with the tide,
Outward, onwards, seawrad,
Where buoys and beacons guide.

Bound with Grain for Yarmouth,
Ghistong down the Swin,
Hasting, winding, storming,
From Lowerstoft to Kings Lynn.

Every port and haven
From Tyne to Cawsand Bay,
Still sees the barges trading
With fresh cargoes every day.

Laden deep with sugar,
with barley, sand or coke,
Spritties keep on sailin,
They were built of English oak.

But their day is passing,
Fewer with each tide,
Grace old London's river,
Long may their rare charm abide