As a boy, I recall the golden evening -
holding Mammy's hand at Cobh bay
like sentinels at the cliffs, where West Cork
was tucked in by the Atlantic.
I watched you stretch your iron legs
and leave a washline of white surf
in your wake, watched until you sillouetted yourself
proudly against the setting sun.
I don't know if the jubilant deck calls or smell
of salty fresh paint and varnish were figments
and the added extras of my young dreams.
And after 87 years of sleeping on the sea floor, still
I see you shadowed against the orange Munster sky,
still I hold Mammy's hand and wave your time goodbye.
**
Written for Baby Rainbows club battle challenge
