by David Parmer
His name was “Port McLaughlin,” no more do I know
A life of toil was his, it shows
In worn-out shoes and scruffy clothes.
A smile unused to cameras, gnarled hands, his life’s testament;
Stoic countenance on his deep-lined face, his feet from labor bent.
Newt Godfrey was a close, dear friend, but Newt is dead and gone.
No one is left to shed some light and tell us ‘til the dawn
An interesting yarn ‘bout Port McLaughlin.
His name was “Port McLaughlin,” no more do I know
A life of toil was his, it shows
In worn-out shoes and scruffy clothes.
A smile unused to cameras, gnarled hands, his life’s testament;
Stoic countenance on his deep-lined face, his feet from labor bent.
Newt Godfrey was a close, dear friend, but Newt is dead and gone.
No one is left to shed some light and tell us ‘til the dawn
An interesting yarn ‘bout Port McLaughlin.
.
Comment by Pat Reckart
My mother, Nellie (Godfrey) Hopkins, told me that when she was about two years old she recalls Port McLaughlin coming to visit her parents, Tom and Bridget Godfrey, in Orlando. At the time (around 1918), my mother and her parents lived beside St. Michael’s Church. Port would stay with them for several months at a time. My mother assumed that Port had no home and that he was thankful for the hospitality of the Godfrey home.
No comments:
Post a Comment