Sandy fishnets, washed up on the shore.
What’s she catching, and will she be sore?
Sandy was the prettiest of all.
She talked French, she came from Montreal.
During chores she never had to help.
Sandy got a bed all to herself.
We slept in the trailer to the right.
Sandy told us stories late at night.
She spoke of ships and sailors,
And a sea so big and wide.
She had lots of uncles and was always tired.
How they loved her in those early days.
Mrs. Bulger let her go away.
All her uncles drove her off to play.
We would see them kissing on the lake.
Time went by and Sandy’s all grown up.
The lines of uncles dwindled,
And the pirate stories stopped.
Then one day Melissa May showed up,
And Sandy had to share a bed with us.
And will she be soaring over the sea,
With the wind in her sails and a knife in her teeth?
At the helm of a ship, on its way to a distant shore,
Bermuda or Thailand, an uncharted island,
Sandy, we’re all getting older.
What will they do with us,
When they are through with us?
Sandy, what are we sailing for?
Christmas morning, 1993,
Presents waiting underneath the tree.
There’s a box for me, a box for me.
No gift for poor old Sandy to be seen.
We found Sandy sobbing quietly.
Uncle Gerald said he liked Christine.
Mrs. Bulgar said she had to leave.
Three days later, she was gone,
The day she turned thirteen.
