Post by Administrator on Feb 13, 2020 17:33:43 GMT
THE CASTAWAY
There was Bob McKendrick, Jack and me,
And a Lascar nearly dead,
All that survived the sinking,
That explosion hot and red.
The Lascar died before the night,
Had born the coming day,
And I thought it queer within my mind,
To ask how Lascars pray.
We spoke the words we'd heard before,
Then released him to the deep,
The heat exhaustion, wounds as well,
We were to weak to weep.
The seventh day McKendrick left,
Sir Bob of the laugh was he,
He had a wife and son back home,]
On the shore of the cold North Sea,
Three trips he'd made with jack and me,
On the long New Zealand run,
The times we'd toast a beer or two,
To the girls of Wellington.
Day fifteen dawned bright and clear,
Jack staring at the blue,
He'd gone and left while I had slept,
My friend had signed off too.
Twenty days and two has passed,
When a vessel came my way,
Her name unknown, a merchantman,
In her wartime colors grey.
Ian A. Millar
There was Bob McKendrick, Jack and me,
And a Lascar nearly dead,
All that survived the sinking,
That explosion hot and red.
The Lascar died before the night,
Had born the coming day,
And I thought it queer within my mind,
To ask how Lascars pray.
We spoke the words we'd heard before,
Then released him to the deep,
The heat exhaustion, wounds as well,
We were to weak to weep.
The seventh day McKendrick left,
Sir Bob of the laugh was he,
He had a wife and son back home,]
On the shore of the cold North Sea,
Three trips he'd made with jack and me,
On the long New Zealand run,
The times we'd toast a beer or two,
To the girls of Wellington.
Day fifteen dawned bright and clear,
Jack staring at the blue,
He'd gone and left while I had slept,
My friend had signed off too.
Twenty days and two has passed,
When a vessel came my way,
Her name unknown, a merchantman,
In her wartime colors grey.
Ian A. Millar