6 Lines

6 Lines Shored-up wooden boats standing in the mud, braced by boards to stand erect, We vigilant men past sixty, retain our dignity, and point to heaven, with masts securely fixed to the deck. Like a thinning forest of greying painted trees, we are picturesque in a sunset with cawing gulls flying by. Though the tide is now low, the ebb will soon flow by the full of the moon. And when tidewaters of the sound are high, we will drop our boards, raise our sails, real in our lines, and list with a tune. Then we shall sail past break waters with bows toward God, carrying no passenger on our final, and long goodbye. by Martin Braun In remembrance of the late Jimmy Buffett, who wrote songs that captured my soul, and warmed my heart while driving midnight Friday evenings in the dead of an Ohio winter. I sang "Mother, Mother Ocean" with windows rolled down to keep me awake during my business travels while dreaming of lost better times and for a future I still long for.