The Cliffs Around Conche
Green meadows sweep down once covered by trees
to kiss the saltwater where fish ought to be.
And it’s out past Fox Head revelation to me -
the towering cliffs around Conche
Ancient battalions raised to the sky,
slanted and sliced and craggy and high,
Sunlit by morning as wide as your eye -
I’m wounded the cliffs around Conche
It’s out on the ocean they’d fish and they’d hunt
where the cod were so big they’d capsize your punt.
Inside of an hour you’ve caught what you’re able.
Race home up the bay and in to the table.
The wind and the waves keep pounding the rock,
and the caves in the walls where men hunt for duck.
They used to catch fish here so I say good luck -
Glass Hole and the cliffs around Conche
It’s out by Shoal Point where green frames the sea,
the cliffs in retreat to unveil Northeast.
Little boats dot the water and the gulls fly so free -
by the glorious cliffs around Conche
With one eye on the line and one eye on the sea,
and a bag full of rocks hidden down at your knee.
Don’t be too careless, don’t be too brave
and dump if the fish over if the law’s on the wave.
I can’t help but think on some 300 years .
They fished in these waters and settled right here,
conjured a living and tamed this frontier -
on the sea and the cliffs around Conche.
Sail past the bottom and out along shore.
Hauling in nets catching fish by the score.
For whales and for icebergs few words to spare,
but calm seas and clear skies sure answer a prayer.
© Michael Worthington Music 1994
One of the Newfoundland trilogy.