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24 November 2017
❖ LAMENT OF A TOWBOAT ENGINEER ❖
"At twilight when nights swift approach lays shadows o're the waters,
We yearn for home and loved ones, our wives, our sons, and daughters.
Some sing a song of the open sea and a sailor's life Yo! Ho!
But set me down on a plot of ground with just a plain old hoe.
How we sweat our way to Panama; then pitched and tossed to Hilo.
We're Northbound now, but Lord only knows we may next depart for Rio.
We growl about our lot, of course; the old lube leak and the roast beef's horse.
And when the Skipper plots a course, that he comes out
where he wants to be, is a never-ending mystery.
The engine's worn; we should have sails; to us, the miles go by like snails.
We always get there, never fear, but it makes each week seem like a year.
The water's rusty, the bunks are hard, all cooks are fiends and
should boil in lard.
The mates! well anyway, when at last to her home pier the ship is fast,
Each one departs with a solemn vow, ne'er to return to that ol' scow.
But when the dawning's bright and clear, comes our fervent cry to the bossman's ear.
Are we sailing soon? Oh! why not now, and what's delaying us anyhow?"
Composed by William House. Piling Busters Yearbook. Seattle, WA. Mitchell Pub. 1951.
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