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Dociwallips, is a very nice place,
We would visit every year, on the first of May.
Staying at the campgrounds or in Brinnon.
Party at night, the next day Oysters and Clams.
Gather the Oysters, shuck and leave the shells, please.
Go down in the morning, to get a limit
Of Oysters and then look for Gooey Duck.
If you got one, proud you would be.
Once time I see the right "sign"
And then with a panned design,
I started to dig, as casual as I could,
For I didn't want the "Duck" that he should,
Dig deeper, or pull in its neck.
As I dug closer, down on my knees,
I grabbed the shell, if you please.
Holding and wiggling, my grip kind of thin,
When I realized that the tide was coming in.
I grasped tighter and then came a fear,
The water was now up to my ear.
I wriggled some more, my wife said, "Let go".
And I told her that, I won't. NO!
Finally the big clam broke free.
I could now say, look at me.
I stand by the water
I hear the lapping waves
The smell of the Sea,
What you do to me,
I gaze into your eyes,
The reflection, I see,
My arms encircle you,
It's almost time to go,
I've lost you my love,
I'll pray for your soul,
I remember you, from many years before.
You were so beautiful and I did adore,
That look that you had,
The sounds that you made,
As we rode all the byways and more.
The sleek running chassis, I saw before,
With a smooth shifting, four on the floor.
Your engine, a V-8, a 283,
That always had enough power for me.
Dual pipes, with "Smitty's", making the sound,
That would send out echo's all over town.
Driving down the street, every night, alas
The pipes echo's would rattle the glass
Of the storefronts, there were quite a few,
As we circled again, down the Avenue.
I must write of what I feel,
Else this life may get more surreal.
I have noted that late at night,
A wandering about, without delight,
Searching for answers of a question or so,
When I realize there is more to know.
Thought processes, that once were keen,
Are missing the connection, in between.
She knows that something is wrong,
But can't reason of where it will belong.
It frightens me, in a caring way.
I pray that the morrow, is a better day,