He was old and bent with a weathered brow
In every line of his face a story
His timeworn hands were calloused and scarred
From the years that he spent in a dory

He told me he fished the Grand Banks in his youth
And often looked death in the eye
But the young, he said, fear nothing at all
So a grave in the deep he defied

But he spoke of a storm like nothing he’d seen
Their long liner tossed like a toy
And he thought for sure he’d never see dawn
He was barely nineteen, just a boy

The storm came out of nowhere that night
And the waves were like mountains he said
He wretched his gut til he could no more
And then he wished he were dead

But the sturdy old boat held together
And against all odds they survived
Even though they lost every cod they caught
They were happy to be alive

He said the Grand Banks were tricky that way
And a storm could spring up anytime
But he’d rather be there than on the shore
Cause his life was upon the brine
  Submitted By: Nancy Crossman