POEM TITLE
The Ship That Never Sailed
POEM
With a picnic we would linger, where gowans freely grew
Where seaweed left a salty trail and gulls abundant flew
On a well worn tartan blanket, we'd sit upon the sand
With a thermos flask of lukewarm tea, a sandwich in our hands
With a bucket, spade and beach ball, we played the hours away
A paddle in the Firth of Forth, the joys of summer days
Then in the hush of evening twilight, we'd sit upon a ridge
And constant towering over us, the red of the old bridge
In fields of gold we'd wander, when came the conker time
As we walked from Old Philpstoun, past long closed shale mines
A kind faced local spoke to us, he seemed a man of wealth
The eldest of our group declared, "It's Tam Dayell himself."
"It is indeed," the man he laughed, as the night was closing in
And constant towering over us, the Laird's House of the Binns
In winter snows, in gloves and hats along nature's enchanted way
Where frozen cobwebs clung to trees, as they shone in frost's display
The snow would turn the red of shale a glistening wintry white
The bings now morphed to icy mounts, that shimmered in the night
Where in the dark we saw a cat, outwitted by a mouse
And constant towering over us, the charm of Hopetoun House
In spring from hibernation, I awaken from past times
To snowdrops still as pretty, to places still as fine
Where once again, down well worn paths, my heart will still lead me
To make new prints, on familiar sands, down at Blackness on Sea
No longer now the lukewarm tea but with fresh soup piping hot
I'll dream my dreams, of seafaring themes, within The Lobster Pot
While embracing all life's treasures, whatever may prevail
And constant towering over me, the ship that never sailed