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DRIFTWOOD
Drifting along on the crest of a wave,
An old piece of timber all battered and staved.
Where did it come from? What did it do?
How did it get here? I wish I knew.
Did it come from a boat that was lost in a storm?
When that boat broke up, from the deck it got torn.
Did it come from a bridge that came down in a flood,
And was swept out to sea in a torrent of mud?
All tangled in seaweed washed up on the beach,
We've got it now that it's well within reach.
We'll cut up and dissect it, dry it out in the byre,
We know how we'll use it, it will go on the fire.
Neil Morrison |
