The ticket-taker from the ferry
Bellied up to the rail of the stage
And sang, without preamble,
Songs of yearning and the sea.
His beard bristled; he was very still.
The whole bar went quiet to hear him
Except for one loud mother
Who didn't catch the hint.
But he sang on, the old sailor,
Stoic and debonair,
While behind him the official entertainment
Smiled like the face of God.
Scratch an Irishman and he'll bleed music –
Ancient and sad, and full of much-tilled earth,
Or full of the rolling of the unsatisfied sea
Which tosses the lonely ferry like a child's toy.
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