I heard its wheezy leather lung, the jig
It played as I took the steps carefully,
Knees stiff with early morning and old age,
To reach the little bay, the navy sea.
An old woman sat and her fingers flew,
Like knitting a ganzie with cunning hand.
She played her squeeze-box shanties, made them new
The busy sea waiting at her command.
For we were the only human creatures there,
And again, how swiftly those fingers played.
When she turned and talked, we began to share
Our city tales, the seaside lives we’ve made.
I hear still if the tide runs high and strong
Thin echoes of her concertina song.
Listen to the audio here - https://soundcloud.com/james-morgan-nash