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By Joan O'Flynn
Itís a sure sign summerís drifted
When you see that boats are lifted,
And the moorings bob alone out in the bay.
And the days that youíve been spending,
Thinking they were never ending
Have got shorter,
and their warmth has slipped away.
I almost feel like crying Ė
Itís a little bit like dying
When the seasonís run its course
And winterís here.
I can only know the sorrow
And hope a new tomorrow
Will bring something
That will take away the fear.
With each year that passes by
I heave a deeper sigh
As I realise how precious are the days
When, with friends, we sail together
Take advantage of the weather,
Check the tide,
And laugh as we are drenched with spray.
When the season comes again
Will we tighten up the Main,
Hoist the Jib,
And raise the anchor from the deep?
Or will some of us have gone?
Will our presence linger on
When we sail into the everlasting sleep?
to all those who have sent cards, emails, and tributes to Lucan Newsletter, on the death of our friend and colleague, Joan. Thank you also to those who called to our office, to express their sympathy.
The messages are too numerous to print, but all have been read and are very much appreciated. We will pass them on to her family.
The above poem, written in 2003, was one of the many poems penned by Joan, who was particularly fond of the sea and nature in general.