August winds are turning,
The fishing boats set out upon the sea.
Young Meg & Meg Dawson
I watch ‘til they sail out of sight,
The winter follows soon.
I watch them drawn into the night,
Beneath the August moon.
No one knows I come here,
Some things I don’t share.
I can’t explain the reasons
Why it moves me close to tears,
Or something in the season’s change will turn my head,
And find me wandering here.
In my public moments,
I hear the things I say but they’re not me.
Perhaps I’ll know before I die,
And admit that there’s a reason why,
I count the boats returning from the sea,
I count the boats returning from the sea.
There once was a boy who said he loved me...