Several years ago, while walking on our beach, I stopped and looked at our old raft, the one we waterskied off of many years ago. It was sitting up high and dry. Many of it’s planks were missing, the fire hose bumper rotted away, and rusty nails were working their way free. For many years it sat there, unattended and battered by winter storms. Memories of my Dad came over me and I wrote this poem:

 

Early this morning I walked the beach
Past the old raft pulled high up the shore
Built by your hands so long ago
Twenty-nine thousand and two hundred tides

Weathered, wave-beaten and fallow she lies
But I keep her all the same
You were strong and full of life those days
Twenty-nine thousand and two hundred tides

You came into my life when I was a boy
On the jetty you taught me to fish
And you built the raft when I was a teen
Twenty-nine thousand and two hundred tides

I’ll see you again on another high shore
But for now I’ll remember those days
When we walked the beach and this raft was new
Twenty-nine thousand and two hundred tides

copyright 2012 Jim W. Smith

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