OLD PAINTING
There used to be a painting in the house at the end of the street,
It was a large canvas of an old man and a child on a stone seat
Overlooking the sea, a faraway look in the child’s eyes so bright,
A silhouette of the old man, a gnarled hand by his hair so white.

The title always intrigued me. On a brass plaque, it simply read
‘Tell me the tales of the sea’. You felt the words the child said.
I wish I could have seen more of the old man’s wrinkled face,
But the artist was clever for it gave your imagination space.

I wanted to be in that picture and hear the many tales told,
Or even be the storyteller explaining adventures so bold,
The seascape in the background showed a gathering storm,
A ship with sail making her way to harbour free from harm.

Was he just a sailor or a captain who’d risen from cabin boy?
Had he spent all his life on the seas his life’s only employ?
Was that his beloved grandchild longing to also go off to sea?
Maybe it was that painting that put the sea deep within me.

(Millicent) Ann Margetson 22 June 2004