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Accross The Bar

This is a poem my sister gave me recently. It is written in the hand writing of my late mother who passed away last year. Recorded on an old piece of wall paper. I can only guess it was written about her Father who served in the British Navy during World War 1

Across The Bar

He sits at the bar

Surrounded by smoke

Stares in his beer

Nobody spoke

Elderly, grey

Perhaps deep in a dream

Nobody speaking

Nor asks what he’s seen

Drinking too much

Is he trying to forget?

Hours in the sea

Is the cold with him yet?

Over the months

I hear bits of his story

Convoy Commander

Once fighting for glory

Who is to know

Why the chap in the corner

Drinks himself stupid

Now old and a loner

Oh! write me not off

When you see me at first

Perhaps I have reason

For quenching my thirst


Margaret Keady – Circa late 1930

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