This boat was built by weathered hands and made of weathered wood.
She’s taken men to sea for fish through bad times and through good.
She’s fished the banks and sold her wears on both Atlantic shores.
She sailed through time; outlived her prime, and she’ll go to sea no more.

Through wind and snow, through weathered blow she saw her crewmen home.
Through snapped spars, through broken shrouds, through oceans white with foam.
She’s worked hard, and with her crews, she’s built a strong rapport
Her lines now marred in the breakers’s yard, she’ll go to sea no more.

This grand dame, now without her name, waits upon the morning light.
Tomorrow we do our breaker’s work, but she’s still whole tonight.
One last night see her whole, to admire and adore
She dies tomorrow in the breaker’s jaw, she’ll go to sea no more.

Her woodwork tells of bygone skills used in days of yore.
The Craftmen’s skill built a hull that’s solid to the core,
With a chain saw and with no such skill I’ll do what I deplore.
Salvage blends with scavenge, and she’ll go to sea no more.

I retain a copyright on all my work. (c)2004