FITTED FOR THE HELM

Let me relate to one and all
The story of a man, his work and his call
Of how he once stood and cocked his eye
On the wooden frame that would be mine.

She lay out back, some 20 feet long
With a racking stem and a keel so strong
With a forward hook and a mitchy bend
And a stern shaped counter fitted for the helm.

With back half bent, he scratched his crown
And he took each plank right from the ground
One by one he nailed each rib
Until all timbers were finally hid.

And after a cup of homemade tea
He began the task of filling each seam
With chisel and mallet he pounded away
The freshness of oakum til the end of the day

Next day being fair and windy too
He tackled his gray mare and he wandered through
At last he came upon the merchant's store
Where he purchased some goods, some paint and a door

His box car now being filled to the brim
He headed home where his work was to begin
With brush in hand and paint so white
He painted the hull to keep her tight

Inside the frame he placed a bed
For his make and break, his gift from heaven
A house was then made to fit
With a sliding roof and a place to sit

Next he placed a rise and zen
Constructed thoughs where men would sit in
And topworks curved and nailed just so
He stepped aside with eyes all aglow

And as he glanced upon the stern
He thought of the things that he had learned
And now that his work was finally done
He would pass her on to his only son

And now that he's old and feeble and weak
He gazes from the doorstep where he often speaks
Where he and I discussed the days
Of how it was in so many ways

But he's gone now and he's left behind
His only son and a boat that's mine
But I often think of the mitchy bend
And the stern shaped counter he fitted for a helm.