The Great Years

RCN News - - Contents - By Lloyd McIn­tee

I've of­ten won­dered what our fam­ily would say If all our tales saw the light of day. Would they be­lieve it of fa­ther or spouse Who sits in the cor­ner as quiet as a mouse. This gen­tle old man who sits and dreams Was it re­ally he who hatched those schemes. Who rois­tered and drank and played the ass And couldn't re­sist the sight of a lass? It was a dif­fer­ent sort of life that we led While those ashore were tucked up in bed. We who could work for two days and nights And then run ashore 'To see the sights!' They can never know the fun and the fears Of those bois­ter­ous, early, fun-filled years. When our sense of worth was sec­ond to none And we'd many miles of the race to run. We who scorned those tied to the shore, Who sit and think on those days of yore; We've Fin­ished With En­gines, shut the Main Stop, Our pre­cious mem­o­ries all that we've got. But then again, there's no need to be sad, They can never erase that which we had. Though some­times now we say it in jest We know in our hearts that we were the best.

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