Ode To Fremantle

Beneath the harbour lights, where seagulls wheel and cry, 

The ships lie still like sleeping beasts beneath the cobalt sky. 

Salt whispers in the evening breeze through weathered timber walls, 

And history walks the waterfront, in silent, salted calls. 

Fremantle, proud and brimming soul of ocean, art, and trade, 

Your limestone bones, your copper roofs, your stories never fade. 

Convict-laid and sailor-sung, your streets are paved with song, 

Where every pub and gallery knows where the hearts belong. 

The sun goes down behind the cranes, gold spilling on the sea, 

And music swells from Market Street with voices wild and free. 

From cappuccino strips to Dockers’ cheers on wind-blown Sunday air, 

There’s spirit in your alleyways and revolution there. 

You hold a charm no skyline steals, no modern gloss can fake – 

A salt-kissed edge, a weathered grace, a boldness none can break. 

You speak of home, of going out, of coming back again, 

Of salty chips, of busker blues, of unexpected rain. 

So here’s to you, old Fremantle, with heart both fierce and kind, 

A port that moors the wandering soul and stirs the restless mind. 

Beneath the harbour lights, you shine – a beacon in the west, 

Where time runs free, and ocean dreams find place and pause and rest.