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 ..