When I Touched the Driftwood

Whilst walking along the beach close to where I stay Like other beach walkers seeing the washed up display I stumbled across some driftwood buried in the sand The feeling when I touched it I began to understand I knew where it had came from I also knew where it had been It was part of the bow of a ship, a sturdy cross member beam The longer that I held it, it told me more each time When it was shaped from the tree in its scented pristine prime It was taken to a shipbuilder whom crafted it into the hull Being part of a glorious yacht that sailed from the Isle of Mull But on one fateful night in the storm lashed Caribbean The seas were just to strong for it floundered and let the sea in All the crew were saved picked up by various ships Taken to a safe harbour to reminisce about their trip I'm in the West of Scotland, the Caribbean is way down south Amazing how this piece of driftwood, lies at this river mouth.