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Our island sang four chanteys - Fran Wilde "The Ghost Tide Chantey: Ebb"

Seven tides graced our lee shore - Fran Wilde "The Ghost Tide Chantey: Ebb"

And new tides sweep the sand - Fran Wilde "The Ghost Tide Chantey: Ebb"

Emptied houses turned shuttered eyes to the sea - Fran Wilde "The Ghost Tide Chantey: Low"

A schoolhouse filled with dust - Fran Wilde "The Ghost Tide Chantey: Low"

Watched from widow's walks worn thin - Fran Wilde "The Ghost Tide Chantey: Iron"

As hope sunk below the waterline - Fran Wilde "The Ghost Tide Chantey: Iron"

Stayed to keep the ghost watch - Fran Wilde "The Ghost Tide Chantey: Slack"

Unraveled the silence of loss - Fran Wilde "The Ghost Tide Chantey: Slack"

Stitched the island quiet - Fran Wilde "The Ghost Tide Chantey: Slack"

A rough machine of brass and wood - Fran Wilde "The Ghost Tide Chantey: Neap"

Pulled at the island's fallow gardens - Fran Wilde "The Ghost Tide Chantey: Smoke"

A gull made of bone and cloth - Fran Wilde "The Ghost Tide Chantey: High"

Children plucked each treasure - Fran Wilde "The Ghost Tide Chantey: High"

Licked a bloodied paw with a nettle tongue - Fran Wilde "The Ghost Tide Chantey: High"

Hung his ghost like a sheet from a mast - Fran Wilde "The Ghost Tide Chantey: Bone"

They stitch joy to sorrow - Fran Wilde "The Ghost Tide Chantey: Spring"


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