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THE OLD SEADOG
[Welland Telegraph December 20, 1941]
He fights his battles o’er again
Recalls the days of anxious strain,
When news to him is brought.
His spirit still is on the deep
Where some old chums had found their sleep,
And memories still o’er him creep
Of vivid battles fought.
He blesses Churchill for the time
He kept the navy in its prime
And ready for the day,
And Jutland’s battle, dark and grim
Provides great moments still for him,
And though his sight is getting dim,
His spirit still is gay.
His heart is always on the sea
Where Britain’s flag of liberty
Is always to be found.
He’s weather-bronzed and battle-scarred
For seas were rough and fighting hard
But enemies could not retard
Their vigilance profound.
His humorous and cheery talk,
Old reefer coat, and rolling walk
Bespeak the tar of old.
He still is proud of Britain’s fame
Because she always played the game;
And to a navy man her name
Shines out like flames of gold.
William McClure.
A House May Not A Home Be
That Old Brick Home
At the crossroads where dirt road joins the paved
are yet a few orchards on farmland that’s been saved.
From the developers so quick to clear
farming homesteads once held so dear.
A tree-lined drive stretches up the way
past a red-roofed barn that’s leaking hay,
to an apple tree-shaded farmhouse of age-worn brick.
On the other roadside runs a rushed, frog croaking crick.
The old home seems vacant most of the time ,
still, ..some days there’s washing on their line.
No children’s clothes wind flap in the breeze,
just faded blues hang with well-worn knees.
Frogs in cadence croak from the nearby pond,
where floats a raft from times now long gone
A limb hung swing seat dangles from one old rope
Seeming to call for a child, but with little hope.
The old home seems to call for children’s play
as then in the past on some long-ago day.
A frog filled pond near a house of brick,
with a swing and barn are where I’d pick
to raise my child in a country set.
Had I that choice, we’d live there yet.
rw/Apr.23/06
Ron your poetry touched the part of me that wants to return to the farm of my grandparents. I did not appreciate what I had as a child, but now wish to return to simpler times; picnics with family members under the old tree, dinner with my father’s family that included wonderful dishes made with fresh cream from the cow; my grandmothers icing on her cakes; the room above the kitchen where I played house as a child-so many memories.
.
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