AR was one of Daddy’s few friends in Graemsay. He wrote this in memory of him.
In memory of Dick Haynes
When the moon comes flying over the sea
and the call of the curlew reaches me,
when sunrise turns the stony shore to jewels,
and golden dewdrops gleam on mushroom stools,
I think of island days, oh days of old,
and some were days of grey and some were gold.
We talked of trailers, tackle, a boats prow,
oh many things. And I remember how
we talked the sun down to the ocean’s rim,
and messed about until the yard grew dim.
Oh man, what days were they that passed us by,
under the wind’s wail and the gulls’ cry.
Never another day, oh never another day
and some were days of gold, and some were days of grey.