From This Window

My father grew up in what was once a busy shipbuilding village. A bit of nostalgia.

FROM THIS WINDOW

From this window when she was young
She used to watch white sails glow red against the sun
New ships would leave the slips and run before the breeze
To places she could only see her dreams

And when she heard the shipyard whistle blow
She’d be there waiting for her man to come home
She watched her children building castles in the sand
Down below the drydocks in the evening

And now all that remains
Are memories that fade with time
Like the cliffs along the shore
That slowly lose their battle with the tide

Busy days used to hurry by
Swift as the swallows on the beach would fly
But now there’s time to sit by the window
In the quiet of another afternoon

The building days here are long since gone
The drydocks have crumbled and the wharf has blown down
And often now when the evening comes around
She’s sure that she can hear the children’s voices

And now all that remains
Are memories that fade with time
Like the cliffs along the shore
That slowly lose their battle with the tide