Post by Administrator on Sept 4, 2022 19:54:29 GMT
OLD BONES
There’s just her ribs, all that remain,
Her name we never knew.
We know not when she ran aground,
Or what happened to the crew.
We’ve used her timbers many times,
To build fires on the shore.
Did she come from far off foreign land,
Or a port in Labrador.
What is left is lying there,
Her port side in the sand.
She reminds us of the days of sail,
Now isn’t that just grand.
She reminds us of a passing age,
Ships of wood and men of steel.
Never more to sail the sea,
Nor float on even keel.
But she reminds us every day,
With the changing of the tide.
She once went fishing on the Banks,
Out on the ocean wide.
Ian A. Millar
There’s just her ribs, all that remain,
Her name we never knew.
We know not when she ran aground,
Or what happened to the crew.
We’ve used her timbers many times,
To build fires on the shore.
Did she come from far off foreign land,
Or a port in Labrador.
What is left is lying there,
Her port side in the sand.
She reminds us of the days of sail,
Now isn’t that just grand.
She reminds us of a passing age,
Ships of wood and men of steel.
Never more to sail the sea,
Nor float on even keel.
But she reminds us every day,
With the changing of the tide.
She once went fishing on the Banks,
Out on the ocean wide.
Ian A. Millar