by Arthur Stringer
Time was I thought av wimmen, sure,
As made to reverince, limb be limb;
As something holy-like and pure
Thro' all the snow white length av thim!
I dreamed av gerrls as angels, lad,
Wid all their wistful holy ways,
To leave you thremblin' when ye'd had
A word wid thim ... in oulder days!
But now I've learned me topsail lore
And roved the sea from rim to rim,
I seldom wait and quake before
The soft and snow white length av thim!
For when gerrls love you well, me lad,
They're thrue to nayther law nor letther;
'Tis when they're most disheartenin' bad
Ye'll learn to love such angels betther!
Last updated January 14, 2019