White sailed schooners dreaming up the river,
White winged seagulls curving in their pride,
Blunt nosed timber barges threaded like a bracelet
Strung behind a small tug struggling ‘gainst the tide.

Brown flows the Demerara, mud brown and tea brown,
Brown are the mud banks where the mangroves sprawl,
Proud are the white sails, red sails, grey sails,
From wing-tailed fishing boat to schooner tall.

Kings of the river are the bauxite steamers,
Down and up the river with the ebb and flow,
Queens of the river are the grave white liners
Anchored by the roadway with the town below

Wide is the mouth of the brown Demerara,
Gracious are the small ships winged for the breeze,
Fishing ships and trade ships and passengers from far lands,
Homing up the river or out across the seas.