Dory

Aye, she sits on the shore...in the sunshine
Rotted...but somehow still looking proud
Can ye not hear the ghosts at her gunnels
Singing old fisherman songs aloud

Served proudly...the two-masted schooners
The wooden work horses plying the sea
Now it seems only old timers remember
Aye, hoarse voices all singing in key

The old fishing boat houses now are empty
Here stories were shared many a night
Sitting ‘round a wood stove in the winter
Mending worn nets by the kerosene light

Days of dorys and schooners all but forgotten
No more seen on the Grand or Brown Banks
The old sailors grow fewer each springtime
While there’s no one to refill their ranks

Aye, but the old dory still sits by the wayside
The high tides still come and go as before
And my head still remembers the old stories
Told by my father and grandfather before…