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The tired houses leaning side by side

The rusty bicycle you always ride

The fisherman whose ship is work and pride

They all are home to me

The sand that’s blowing on the lonely beach

The waves that bring the shore  a  treasure each

The wrinkled  hand that’s  always there to reach

How that is home to me

The mother waiting on the windy pier

The cry of seagulls that are  always here

The far away sons and the one who’s near

So much is home to me

The grandchild who’ll be born in fall

The silent men who’ve seen it all

The drunk man waiting for the final call

That all is home to me

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