The fisherman is a very boring man
All he ever speaks of is fish.
But his wife on the other hand
Has interesting stories to tell
But she won’t tell a sole,
And it leaves a hole
In the history, of my island.
So i spoke to her,
And she agreed o speak
And she got out a small box.
And i watched with excitement
As she took out some photos she had.
They were all black and white.
And they all were obscure
But she looked at them
With a twinkle in her eye.
At every picture there was a tale,
Like the boys who once played by…
And the parties by the….
Or even the mountain climber who stopped for…
The stories were great
But more important still
Was the look in her eyes
as she reminisced about old times
