Old Dickie Dog

(He’ll No More Cross The Bar With Me)

Now, while I raise his stiffened leg and place him on the sheet,

I think of the times he used to beg for bones or chunks of meat.

His old paw raised, blind eyes glazed,

His nose would search the scent.

His ancient paw will raise no more.

His time has all been spent.

And he’ll no more cross the bar with me

Beneath the billowed sails.

For he’s passed beyond that western sea

Where the water’s calm and the trade wind never fails.

Now, while I place the links of chain beside his rigid form,

I think of the walks along the docks when still his breath was warm.

His sailor’s stride, legs set wide.

His tilted, stubborn head.

His days have passed before the mast.

Old Dickie Dog is dead.

Now, while I bind the rope around and tug the lashing tight,

I think of the times I woke and found him on my feet at night.

He’d keep the cold from taking hold

When wintry winds would moan.

His warmth is gone, and from here on

We both must sleep alone.

‘Cos he’ll no more cross the bar with me

Beneath the billowed sails.

For he’s passed beyond that western sea

Where the water’s calm and the trade wind never fails.

Now, while I row the dinghy out to where the seagulls fly,

I think of the time we ran about, Old Dickie Dog, and I.

He chased the stones, his tired bones

Seemed younger there at play.

But then last night, at dawn’s first light,

Old Dickie went away.

Now, as I row back with the tide, a breeze stirs from the west.

And on that breeze the seagulls glide.  Old sailor’s souls at rest.

One circles slow then swoops so low

Just passing close astern.

Then out to sea.  So small.  So free.

And never to return.

And he’ll no more cross the bar with me

Beneath the billowed sails.

For he’s passed beyond that western sea

Where the water’s calm and the trade wind never fails.

Copyright © Jim Scott  1983

(Revised version) Copyright © Jim Scott  2008