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.
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