This is the story of Ada McGee
She lost her heart to the cold dark sea
And by that, I mean the actual sea,
just a body of water, to you and to me.
But to Ada, it was something more,
the ideal lover, a thing to adore.
She’d walk on the shore, by night and by day,
not the fiercest of storms, could keep her away.
Near the damp shingle, Ada built up her home
from flotsam and jetsam, and gifts from the foam.
To be quite honest, it was just a damp shack,
But Ada was happy and for nothing did lack.
A bed and a fire, to warm her strange bones,
her lullaby song was the sea’s creaking moans.
Snug as a bug, Ada lived by her sea,
Enjoying the largess of her lover’s debris.
She harvested driftwood, collected bright shells,
found curious things in the dark, foamy swells:
Bouquets of flowers, beads of cut glass,
a heavy wool coat with buttons of brass.
And then, Ada found the most remarkable thing,
washed up on the sand was a fine silver ring.
It fit her precisely, as if made for her hand,
a glittering pearl, in a shimmering band.
Not long after that, on a warm summer’s night,
Ada walked into the sea, in the silver moonlight.
Some think she was mad, touched in the head,
they’ll sadly proclaim Ada drowned and long dead.
But some others will tell you, a quite different tale
that Ada was pretty, hardy and hale.
She may have been odd, no stranger to strife,
but she wasn’t the type to end her own life.
And they say, on the nights, when the moon is all round,
if you walk down to the beach, you’ll hear a strange sound.
By a damp little shack, that has seen better days,
you’ll hear Ada’s voice raised in sweet praise.
And if you linger right there, by that crude little shack,
they say you’ll hear the sea’s voice, answer her back.
So that is the story of Ada McGee,
who gave her heart to the wine-dark sea.