Poem

March 16 was Old Quawk's Day, so two days ago I posted the story of this colorful Ocracoke Island resident (you can read the post here: http://villagecraftsmen.blogspot.com/2015/03/old-quawks-day.html).

That post inspired one of our regular readers to compose a wonderful poem about Old Quawk. Robb Foster has graciously given me permission to share his verse:

Old Quawk’s Day - by Robb Foster

March, the ides, of Winter's end
A sorrowed tale will oft portend
That Caesar is just one to fall
The season, late, had one more squall

We stood in awe of dark'ning skies
The winter, still, had one reprise
The song she sang that day Cimmerian
For we, the children, here Silurian

We bade the day considered lost
For no man, wise, would pay the cost
To fish amongst a roiling sound
To cast that day, our ending, drowned

But on that day one stood too proud
Cursing God and Mother loud
He left this isle and safety’s sight
To save his nets despite this plight

Unto his own he stayed up north
So rarely would he venture forth
He left us here to pine upon
Why here, these shores, he wandered on?

Bolder he than all of us
Above the gale we heard him cuss
Raucous wails, the tempest spoke
Though, not above this fiery bloke!

Some say a pirate, some shipwrecked
This moorish hermit, we suspect
These tales as told will have no end
The squawking recluse failed to bend

For on that fateful mid-March Day
We watched the cullion sail away
No trace of him was ever found
No blighted skiff adrift, the sound

Beware the Ides of March, my friend
And if you doubt, I’ll swear again
Pay heed, old Quawk, we never found 
This day, the wise, stay island bound  

This month's Ocracoke Newsletter is research into the origin of the Ocracoke Island Wahab family. You can read the article here: http://www.villagecraftsmen.com/news022115.htm.