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We travel by
train and ferry
Loaded with tools and stools
With hope ever present
That this time the horn
Will ring o'er sea and land
We sanded, primed and painted
Stripped down the diesel engine
Took parts back to the workshop
For fine tuning and designing
All the needs of a well run engine
The foghorn was stripped and cleaned
Polished, painted, pampered
Returned to its possie
In pride of place
And in vain we awaited the horn
We continued to trek to the island
We cosseted that cantankerous horn
The valves were re-checked
The air tank proven, the engine re-run
All in vain, nary a sound was heard
Four hopeful team members once more
With tools, parts, galore
Travelled with determination
To clean, re-install, and try once more
With hope to hear that horn roar out
Five years had passed
While the struggle continued
No more prophesy made
That this time the horn would sound
That this time we would succeed
But the horn rang out
On the 20th November
And I wasn't there
To hear the sound
Where's the justice in that?
by Barbara Johnstone |
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