On Ranter's Wharf the sun went sailing down
Like an old square-rigger bound for sea once more,
And in the murmur of the evening tide,
I heard a small voice crying, crying on the shore.

I found her weeping by the waterside,
And the evening shadows like a cloak she wore.
"O Betsy Watson is my name, kind sir.
I'm here to seek my Johnny, Johnny on the shore.

"My Johnny was a handsome sailor lad
And I lost him in the gale of ninety-four,
His vessel broken on the midnight sand,
And here they found him lying, lying on the shore.

"I watch the seasons come and go, kind sir,
And I'm waiting still, for what can I do more?
Sometimes I think my Johnny's calling me
When I hear the seagulls crying, crying on the shore."

On Ranter's Wharf the tide is turning now.
When the moon came through, no silver girl I saw,
And was I dreaming, or a drunken man,
When I heard a seagull crying, crying on the shore.

With compliments,

Gerry

Punctuation and capitalization fixed. --JoeClone, 7-Aug-02.