it s maine and it s autumn the birches have just begun turning it s life and it s dying the lobstermen s boats come returning with the catch of the day in their holds and the young boys cold and complaining the fog meets the beaches and out on the reach it is raining it s father and son it s the way it s been done since the old days it s hauling by hand ten miles out from the land where their chow waits and the days are all lonely and long and seas grow so stormy and strong but the reach will sing welcome as homeward they hurry along and the morning will blow away as the waves crash and fall and the reach like a siren sings as she beckons and calls as the coastline recedes from view and the seas swell and roll i will take from the reach all that she has to teach to the depths of my soul the wind brings a chill there s a frost on the sill in the morning it creeps through the door on the edge of the shore ice is forming soon the northers will bluster and blow and the woods will be whitened with snowfall and the reach will lie frozen for the lost and unchosen to row and the morning will blow away as the waves crash and fall and the reach like a siren sings as she beckons and calls as the coastline recedes from view and the seas swell and roll i will take from the reach all that she has to teach to the depths of my soul 