- Michael Mooney

A few times I’ve heard of a man of old,

Close to his home he found some gold.

And now, two hundred years and more,

His story lingers in his children’s lore.

Some said it’s true he found his gold,

For a chunk of ore some hands did hold.

Others said, “Gold? Are you out of your mind?
”There’s no gold around here!”

Nash found his gold, I believe it true,

And I’ll present my case to you.

My words they speak of gold and treasure,

To know their source will be pure pleasure.

I see Tom Nash as a poet of old,

His verses set in his stories told.

And one bright day he felt so good,

No common words would be understood.

He told his tale of gold in sun,

Walking the woods near his dear home.

Having come from a distant land,

He felt a treasure in his hand.

And on that day his search did end,

With pleasures he never did intend.

Sure it was gold he found that day,

What else would make a wise man say?

Now, it had not been often I’d heard Tom’s lore,

Too busy traveling a distant shore.

In far of lands the world around,

Seeking treasure to be found.

A need to travel far and wide.

To find something I felt a-hide.

To get away, to broaden the mind,

And this, my friend, is what I did find.

It was something that was always there,

A faint voice I could always hear.

Though it’s been weak, it has never died,

And if I listen, it grows inside. 

In the Wester’ Cove it most speaks to me,

Come clamber The Rocks, come and see,

And listen and smell, taste and feel,

Bring body and soul, there’s power to heal.

Down The Rocky Lane and past Man’s Face,

Look out Branch Cove, this is the place.

Half way out to the Hayjers Rock,

Relax, young man, turn off the clock.

Sit down beside this white cascade,

It’s here, young man, your treasure’s laid.

To Green Gulch you would often come,

It’s here, young lad, so close to home.

And on the beach you would often walk,

Sand castles and friends while the sea did talk.

When you were called to look for treasure,

Not once did you turn down this pleasure.

You strolled to find a balloon, some rope,

Perhaps a glass rock, perhaps a note.

A few words scribbled in the sand,

You knew, my man, this wonderland.

And after school you did leave this place,

To travel the world, to enter the race.

You walked the streets of Cypriot shores,

Searching for keys to open new doors.

In the lights of Ku’damn you did take pride,

You sailed Zurich Lake from side to side.

Sat on St-Denis in cafés the best,

Crossed the Danube from Buda to Pest.

And all the while a voice did call,

'Come sit, young man, by this waterfall.'

All the time it was deep inside.

Waiting for you to get off the ride.

Slow down, young man, and take a look,

Uncap your pen, take out your book.

And fill some pages with what I tell,

For today, young man, I’ll cast a spell.

Hear endless flow down black rock face,

Giving untold charm to this sweet place.

I have a voice that’s all my own,

It’s been calling you since you were born.

Though in the fall my voice is weak,

It’s here today with you I speak.

And winter icicles I do make,

Saying 'Come here son, here’s one to take.'

Stronger in spring, I can bring down trees,

I’m seen far off through the misty breeze.

And in summer, my spray and the sun combine,

And for you, my child, a rainbow will shine.

I flow here on the Atlantic shore, 

I flow here on St. Mary’s Cape Shore,

No doubt the voice of the waves add more.

While mine is an endless, ceaseless flow,

The waves add silence as the come… and go.

And that silence to you speaks a lot,

Like that evergreen tree on my cliff top.

You look up, and with blue sky you see,

A place you’ve often known Buddha to Be.

And I will continue to talk, to flow,

Stir you deep inside before you go.

To ensure some day you will return,

Sit down right here, there’s more to learn.

So you see, my friend, on any day,

I can visit Green Gulch and take treasure away.

A chest of gold, an energy pure,

What else, my friends, could a man ask more?

And when I’m gone, there will still be talk,

Calling another young man to take a walk.

And like Tom Nash, he will find his gold,

Just over there in the Wester’ Cove.

   Michael is the son of Nora (Mooney) and Mike and enjoys spending time home in Branch.