Beck­on­ing Me

The Compass - - NEWS - Tim Brown

Oh rock in the ocean, com­mand­ing de­vo­tion You keep call­ing me from wher­ever I roam You could be my sal­va­tion or my fi­nal ru­ina­tion But which­ever it is you will al­ways be home With your rugged shore­line, you’re sweeter than aged wine I some­times feel blessed when you beckon once more But a curse or a bless­ing, I’ll al­ways be missing A part of my soul when I’m away from your shore You were my in­spi­ra­tion, but in des­per­a­tion I had to leave you be­hind in the sea Still deep in my be­ing, its rough forces un­seen From over the ocean you still beckon me Af­ter all things are said, is it some­thing in­bred That sets New­found­lan­ders apart from the crowd? It’s a mys­tery to most that your rugged coast Can reach out so far and beckon so loud.

Newspapers in English

Newspapers from Canada

© PressReader. All rights reserved.