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