That Old Boat Dock
The old boards squeak under stress
Egrets come and perch none-the-less
Swaying to the music of the waves
Recording the days the Sun engraves
The smell of its musty cologne invites
Memories of so many past delights
Lines in the water, laughter in the air
Secrets hidden in the wood laid there
Turning back the hands of the clock
There’s magic in, that old boat dock