He wasn't born a fisherman
But he lived the life
And will die proud to have been one
With the salt spray on his lips
His eyes on the horizon
He would gladly drift into tomorrow
With his feet planted firmly on the deck
Gulls screaming overhead
A good haul of fish
Flopping in the hold.

He could have done other things
Had other jobs
Made more money
Life could have been easier
More relaxed, vacations
Time with the family
But not for him
"The life of a fisherman
Is the best kind of life for me
The best kind of a life for anybody."
–he said

But -
In each callous on his hands
In each line on his weather-beaten face
Is etched a picture of life
No artist's brush could capture on canvas

Now –
With most of his lifetime behind him
His memories are his link to the past
And the stories he tells
And the songs that he sings
Help him walk back over the years
Through the highs and the lows
The joys and the sadness
As he clings to each precious moment
Then passes it on.

A tribute to all our
great men of the sea
U. Hynes