Take heed my son, before I rest,
Please grant to me this last request.
That I may hear the sea once more,
And stroll again upon the shore.

This place of childhood heart and mind
so long ago so far behind,
His granted wish, my feeling bound,
then seeking out the fishing ground.

I’ve never seen a smile so graced
fixed firmly on his weathered face.
Undauntedly he stares beyond
the safety shield of harbour’s dawn.

A shorebird scurries across the beach,
just daring waves to touch its feet.
Then screeches out its mournful woe,
While feasting on the undertow.

Hark! The foghorn’s wailing moans,
piercing nerves and chilling bones.
It cautions us of fading sands,
Of ghostly ships from distant lands.

We feel the smacking waves on bow,
I too am blessed with dampened brow.
Once smooth and slow, not now the case,
as water channels down his face.

I sense he hears a peaceful roar,
of motors past from cliffs ashore.
And trudging sound of oar and sail,
along with flapping jibs a gale.

The ease of gulls on air and sea
displaying God’s own tapestry.
They scan and glance while soaring by,
then on toward a mackerel sky.

Amidst it all we carry on,
a driving force from far beyond.
Although I sense the end is near,
I dare not ask as when or where.

The orange sunbeams fading west,
find little time to dance each crest.
The day is done, the time is nigh,
a need to haste to say goodbye.

I understand his quest at last,
by now for him the die is cast.
He settles back with eyes cast high
and seemingly stares at the sky.

A peaceful calm upon his face,
the glow now gone and gray replace.
I swing back home across the bay,
I hold his hand as cold as clay.

Lloyd Mushrow
Port au Basques, NL