a gentle breeze across the bay
to flowered fields, forgotten hay
homes and trees are gone by way
of time and ocean's constant spray
fiddles can be heard no more
in cabins weathered on the shore
the drying flakes of fish they say
was the lifeblood of the day
all but gone the older crowd
who once stood tall
worked hard, were proud
not forgotten through the years
in hearts and minds and many tears
resting now beneath the hay
below the breeze across the bay.


Submitted By: kevin woodside