MY SHIP
By Edmund Leamy
My ship is an old ship and her sails are grey and torn,
And in the dim and misty night she seems a thing forlorn;
Her battered sides are beetle black, her decks are scarred and old,
And heavy rise the musty scents from out her crumbling hold.
The young ships in the tide-way with a sneering smile sail by,
And fair they flash their white sails against a sun-drenched sky,
And fleet they run before the clouds that usher in a blow,
But could a storm coerce my ship whene'er she wished to go!
My ship is an old ship and her sails are torn and grey,
And she's not white and beautiful, nor fragile such as they,
But she has sailed o'er every sea to every land a-gleam,
And on her decks make merry now the wraiths of youthful dream!
VISIONS
By Edmund Leamy
I never watch the sun set a-down the Western skies
But that within it's wonderness I see my mother's eyes;
I never hear the West wind sob softly in the trees
