By Johnnie Baum, The Hatteras Island Poet
HATTERAS
This sleepy little village, on an island in the sea.
Place of legends and of dreams, of what is yet to be.
Memories of wooden boats, rowed across the bay.
By watermen who fished their nets, each and every day.
Times when wildfowl and fish, every table graced.
neighbors were family and friend, life was slower paced.
There was but one general store, a village barber shop.
One could ride for miles, without having to stop.
Horses, sheep, and cattle, here ran wild and free.
Oh, these times are gone now, just a memory.
Fishermen gathered on the dock, at the end of day.
When the catch was unloaded, and tall tales held sway.
Yes this sleepy little village, on an island in the sea.
Has never lost that spirit, which keeps calling me.
Johnnie Baum
This sleepy little village, on an island in the sea.
Place of legends and of dreams, of what is yet to be.
Memories of wooden boats, rowed across the bay.
By watermen who fished their nets, each and every day.
Times when wildfowl and fish, every table graced.
neighbors were family and friend, life was slower paced.
There was but one general store, a village barber shop.
One could ride for miles, without having to stop.
Horses, sheep, and cattle, here ran wild and free.
Oh, these times are gone now, just a memory.
Fishermen gathered on the dock, at the end of day.
When the catch was unloaded, and tall tales held sway.
Yes this sleepy little village, on an island in the sea.
Has never lost that spirit, which keeps calling me.
Johnnie Baum
Blog entry by Anna Tucker, Midgett Realty, Hatteras Village
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