An Old Promise Well Kept

An Old Promise Well Kept

 

He waited and watched, both weary and wet

but nevertheless, like he said that he would ..

and the heels of his boots were worn down to

the bone

gainst the roughhewn, black, bladderwracked

stone of the old harbour wall ..  

Aye, the one that they both knew so well ..

Till all those fisherman’s wives, spread their

little white lies

Clucking like hens in a flood .. Yet he waited

and he watched,

though both weary and wet, just like he

always once said that he would ..

And even today when the wind blows the

wrong way, some folk still say ..

His presence can be felt on them roughhewn,

black, bladderwracked harbour stone walls

At both ends of the day

and again, in those places down there by the

quay, where they once

used to play, when both young, both single and free ..