There’s mist rolling down from the mountain
And fishermen out on the bay;
The radio’s sending out warnings –
Come home, there’s a storm on the way.
A fog horn is heard in the distance
As people on shore watch and wait;
And many a prayer has been whispered,
That not one small boat will be late.
All eyes strain to watch the horizon,
With fear burning deep in their hearts;
They know all too well of the danger,
Each time that a loved one departs.
As dark angry waves reach up higher,
The trees bend and wave in their dance;
The low heavy clouds try to touch them
But east winds don’t give them a chance.
Then, off on the dark rolling ocean,
A tiny white speck comes in sight;
The first of the boats has been spotted,
With luck they’ll be home before night.
As daylight gives way to the darkness
And night closes in on the shore,
The boats are all tied up securely,
Safe home till the storm passes o’er.