The Boat

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic

Submitted: July 29, 2018

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Submitted: July 29, 2018

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The Boat

 

There was this old man that lived in a bar,

Said he was Portuguese and from the old algarve,
I didn't know what he meant but I'd just sit and stare,
As he reminisced of his home and his eyes looked bare.
 
But he never spoke about family or a dog,
And not even a woman that he'd left abroad, 
But of this old boat that once sunk in the sand, 
I just nodded my head and tried to understand.
 
He said he could see it from his old home window,
It sounded as if he spoke of some war torn widow.
 
He was from a poor fisher family so gifts didn't exist,
Except for one day he said he couldn't resist,
He pulled that boat out and drug it to his home,
he said it was a present from those up above.
 
So he worked all day on the patching and paint,
Spent every moment pondering its name,
He thought of every girl that he's ever known,
none was fitting and so he'd ponder on. 
 
Until one day in school it came,
So he ran back home and painted its name.
 
Barco.
He tells me it meant just simply boat,
But to him he knew it was something more,
Nothing ever meant so much in his paint stained hands,
Than This old boat that sat in the sand.
 
Then the shine flew back right into his eyes,
As he spoke of the first voyage underneath the night sky,
He said my father had never been so proud, 
As the net pulled in with his sweat dripped brow.
 
Until the wind kicked up and I swear it blew in,
And the fish even were starting to struggle to swim.
 
My dad and I flipped in the boat that night, 
I floated back to land come the morning light,
But he sunk down and never seen again.
 
I should have left that old boat lying there in the sand.
 
 
http://www.reverbnation.com/open_graph/song/29548108
 
 


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