Post by Administrator on Nov 23, 2021 17:59:24 GMT
GOING TO SEA
when I was a lad, ten years and three,
I worked in the pits out under the sea.
Down in the dank the ocean seeped in,
Danger was present, wages were slim.
I'm going to sea, my mother asked why,
For something to do in the month of July.
To see what it's like to stand on a deck,
To learn a new trade and not break my neck.
I left our old farm, a bit nervous inside,
My worn Kennebecker held by my side.
I found an old schooner alongside the pier,
Bidding farewell to my family so dear.
We're off to the banks for flounder and cod,
Prayers were offered to Almighty God.
I learned the ways of the fisherman's trade,
Never regretting the choice I had made.
So find you a new occupation,
A fisherman, farmer or so.
And die from clean air and the sunshine,
And not from the dust off the coal.
Ian Adrian Millar
when I was a lad, ten years and three,
I worked in the pits out under the sea.
Down in the dank the ocean seeped in,
Danger was present, wages were slim.
I'm going to sea, my mother asked why,
For something to do in the month of July.
To see what it's like to stand on a deck,
To learn a new trade and not break my neck.
I left our old farm, a bit nervous inside,
My worn Kennebecker held by my side.
I found an old schooner alongside the pier,
Bidding farewell to my family so dear.
We're off to the banks for flounder and cod,
Prayers were offered to Almighty God.
I learned the ways of the fisherman's trade,
Never regretting the choice I had made.
So find you a new occupation,
A fisherman, farmer or so.
And die from clean air and the sunshine,
And not from the dust off the coal.
Ian Adrian Millar