The Boat Man

There was a boatman,

And man who always knew

When the tide was leaving

And then returning anew.

Always with a destination

An oar in each hand

Moving with the current

Midship he’d always stand

The young man had watched him

Since he was a young lad

Donned in his faded Mackinaw

Of red and black plaid

Then one day he missed

The old man’s familiar row

His friend made from afar

This man he’d come to know

Then he saw his boat

Tied fast to a river pile

Sitting on the river bank

Resting for a while

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