Corporal at the Creek by John Jones

​A ghostly poem to start our series of ghoulish tales....
​
The tide was out, the water low;
the sun had set, twas time to go.
We set our poles about knee deep,
at the entrance of Gray Brook Creek.
To catch a cod, we were hoping for,
as they often followed the tidal bore.
We climbed the bank to the high tide mark,
and to Gray’s Island, we made our start.
Three teenage boys out having fun
with the hope of a catch in the November run.

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