Old Men Of The Sea

Old men on a shelter bench,
With newspapers and sticks,
Each day the same as yesterday,
The morning tide, the ships;
Watching tourists come and go,
With seagulls scrounging chips,
And soaking up the warming sun,
As cranes unload the freight,
Their chatter filled with long lost friends,
They pause and watch and wait
Each reflecting on their lives,
While sailing sea filled twilights,
Until their ship arrives.