Spanish Room

am/fm dreams

There’s a stretch of shore that the old men know
Where the waves they rumble and long swells roll
Flakes stand tall and the cod lay white
Dried by the sun and the ocean’s sweet bite
They call it a room not for walls nor doors
A fisherman’s place on the wild cove shore
Where the tide sings sweet and the land sits still
In a Spanish room, beneath the hill

Now the stages are leaning and the wood is bleached white
Moon on the water and tide on tide
You can still hear the oars in the hush of the dawn
But the men that pulled them are long since gone
The bay breathes deep and seagulls cry loud
The fog it rolls in like a heavenly shroud
Old songs drift in with the evening bloom
Soft as a prayer, in Old Spanish Room

They call it a room not for walls nor doors
A fisherman’s place on the wild cove shore
Where the tide sings sweet and the land sits still
In a Spanish room, beneath the hill

The bay breathes deep and seagulls cry loud
The fog it rolls in like a heavenly shroud
Old songs drift in with the evening bloom
Soft as a prayer, in Old Spanish Room

written by Danielle Poirier