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By wordley Date: 2020 Apr 04 Comment on this Work [[2020.04.04.08.10.19458]] |
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The night was dark, the spray was keen The waves were the Devil's toys... Within the wheelhouse the pallor was green, Not much dinner held by the boys.. When a dreadful crash ran through the boat, Water poured in, cold and clean.. Amongst the crew the thought was "please float!" "Or we're gone to Fiddler's green!!" "Tis thought that many a year need pass, "fore a fisher boy sees between.. This life, and then, the next again The place known as 'Fiddler's Green' Where a salty dog may rest his bones On a bed of softest dreams, And in comradeship, no more alone, Drink with his mates in 'Fiddler's Green' So if you've a mind to roving go, And your years can count the score, Be thankful that the swell is low And the North wind not so raw For the Devil knows your days are rare, You've had more than should be seen, So lay you down in the deepest mare, And be off to Fiddler's Green!! |