Oh the Tales That He Could Tell

Along a pier, on a bench, An old man sits all day. Passers by not lending time, To what he has to say. They'll never know the loves he had, Or ocean blues he sailed. If they had just a moment, Oh the tales that he could tell. A gent with fishing rod in tow, The "big one" but a dream. The old man pleads with aching hands, Would you come sit with me? A flashing glance, a fleeting wave, No time for you old man. Then you'll not know my secrets, How sure giant ones to land. Not sailfish fought for hours on end, Bursting through the sky. Nor great whites conquered, whales harpooned, Nor where the mermaids hide. A lass sashaying, book in hand, Of romance she does read. His crooked finger motions her, Would you come listen please? With rolling eyes, a turned up nose, His answer once again. Then you'll miss the most daring ventures, Ever known to man. Expanding near a century, Ore exotic lands and seas. My passions, loves and tragedies, Would bring Shakespeare to his knees. So when you see an old man, Sitting there alone. Most all desires that you have dreamed, He has lived and known. He can fill you with adventures, A knew world to you unveil. If you'll just take a moment, Oh the tales that he could tell.