The old Man of Dingle

Sunrise hails the break of dawn, screaming gulls wake up the morn,

Sits outside his cottage door,watching boats sail in to shore.

The old dog "Bran" for company, settles at his master's knee

Follows sea and changing tides, through his watery, seasoned eyes.

Warming sun and cloudless skies, encourage him to close his eyes,

Soon, memories begin to flow, to when he captained the "Irish Rose"

He sees her now,that little ship, wheel held firmly in his grip,

Feels the swell, guides the dip,tastes salt water on his lips.

Cod so big, fish galore near a ton,maybe more.

Scratched his chin,slapped his knee, smiling at the memory.

Wistful eyes want to know, where did all the years go?

Shaky hand mops his brow, old bones don't seem right somehow.

There was so much more he planned to do,

On that faithful boat, with his canny crew,

But the" Irish Rose" wrecked on the shore.

Like the man, will go to sea no more.