"Put this shell to your ear and listen,
tell me what you hear."
I tell him "its the ocean",
even though it's nowhere near.
My young head filled with wonder,
as the waves flow through my mind.
How is it that I hear it now?,
so far from Ballyheigue.
Those Sundays spilling ice-cream
in the back of your old car.
I drink coke and he drinks porter,
well worked fingers stained with tar.
Telling tales of saints n scoundrels,
men who worked the coast.
Its when I hold that old shell now,
I think I miss you most.