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This poem was written when my grandfather past away. He owned a beach house where we would holiday every christmas. It has since been sold but I hold the place dear to my heart.The Shack
Upon the salt stained headland
Lies the Scott's head shack
And the man that built her rustic walls
Now lays upon his back
The sun has scorched her blister walls
Its damage is unforgiving
But the shack stands firm upon her pillars
And goes about its living
The sands of time have changed her now
And the ownership has past
But her skeleton of hard wood stands
As sturdy as a mast
The sound of waves sooth the soul
As you lay between her walls
And its hard not to fall in love
With shacks inviting calls
Rest in peace Grandpa
From the ground in which you lay
And know the former shack you built
Is a beautiful mansion today
So as you sleep find comfort
That the shack is in good hands
Until we meet again
On heavens golden sands
Written by Troy Lane
