Trout Slippers

 There is a bell that tolls for me

But the message is always out of reach.

I’ve heard it ring for many years.

It’s the Bell Buoy off of Lincolnville Beach.

Whenever I am far from Maine,

I wonder does it toll the same…

There is no other bell that rings so true.

Is there a bell that rings for you?

Like the tree falling in the wood,

The noise is made but it’s not as good,

As being there to hear it fall.

If I can’t be there, I don’t care at all.

For the magic is in the context there.

Much clearer in the cold, salt air.

It calls through the fog, just out of reach.

The Bell Buoy off of Lincolnville Beach.

I worked on the schooner of my childhood dream.

The ADVENTURE was mine, at least that it did seem.

Jim was the Captain and he taught me quite well

I learned how to sail through the fog to a bell.

His vision was “sharp” and his senses were keen.

I gave him full measure when I was still green

The lessons were hard, yet I begged him to teach

And I lowered the topmast in Eggemoggin Reach.

I sailed with my wife as the cook down below

As she patiently waited for the next wind to blow.

When I hoisted my anchor to find my own ship,

She was right there as First Mate in case I should slip.

We worked Maine in Summer, B.V.I. in the Fall,

And the winters were spent very far from the call

Of the one thing that beckoned but would never beseech;

The Bell Buoy off of Lincolnville Beach.

Now I’ve lived my life as I thought I should

I’ve sown some oats and I’ve burned some wood.

I married the girl of my unknown dreams

And it went too fast as I stifled the screams.

I’ve no regrets and I swear that’s true

I love my wife and my two kids, too.

I just wonder if I learned what the sea winds teach,

Taught by the Bell Buoy off Lincolnville Beach.

I come back now to sleep and rest,

Inhale salt fog and eat the best,

I’ve been gone so long I forgot it’s a test

Pursuing the game and the money quest.

I must bide my time each year and wait

Until the work is done and I can vacate

To spare a week or two..’tis fate.

I ease the hunger, but will my love abate?

I think it won’t until I get back here

But I’ve said this too. Year upon Year.

I’m old and I’m sore but the dream’s in reach

I think I hear the Bell Buoy off Lincolnville Beach.

Let me have my dream and my family, too

We’ll come back to Maine and find something to do.

I’ll sell Trout Slippers or Quohog Quiche,

If I can just hear the Bell Buoy off Lincolnville Beach.

Past 50* now, but I’m slow to learn

I’ve given up the cities and gone with the yearn.

I’m sailing home on a long, broad reach

And I’m dropping my anchor at Lincolnville Beach.

Tom Crowley

original 1994 – this one -2021

* - past 70 @ 2021