In Depoe Bay,
the fishing boats,
Aren’t
allowed to enter safe port...
Forced to
ride out the weather,
In storms
with little support.
Coleman
lanterns light the boats,
Bobbing
violently in the night…
The golden
glow in the distance,
Disappears,
then comes to sight.
The wives look
over the stone wall,
With
binoculars in hand…
At the shore,
under umbrellas,
Dreading
tragedies far from land.
The lucky
buy a new car,
Selling a
boatful of fresh crab…
Others dream
of the life preserver,
Their loved
one couldn’t grab.
The
merchants pricing fish on land,
Calculate the
cheapest cost…
Never a
thought for the fishermen
Or a prayer
for any man lost.
There is a
memorial in Depoe Bay.
Saluting the
fisherman’s glory…
The brass
memorials, name the names
Yet never
tell each fisherman’s story.
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