1His speckled pastures dipped to meet the beach
2Where the old fish huts stood. At his front door
3A man could stand and see the whole wide reach
4Of blue Atlantic. But he stayed ashore.
5He stayed ashore and plowed, and drilled his rows,
6And planned his hours and finished what he planned.
7And made his profits: colts and calves and ewes
8And buildings and piled stone and harrowed land.
9He was a careful man, a trifle cold
10To meet and talk to. There were some who thought
11His hand was a bit grasping, when he sold;
12A little slow to open when he bought.
13But no one said it that way. When you heard
14His habits mentioned, there would be a pause.
15And then the soft explanatory word.
16They said he was dry-footed. And he was.
RPO poem Editors:
Poem used with permission of the Charles Bruce Estate.