1. I sat writing on a liner in the starboard lounge,
Looking out over the sea.
And as I wrote, I listened to the band,
Playing in a plaintive key.
On the first violin was a brown-eyed girl,
Her hair hung down in a flaxen curl,
And when she had completed what she had to play,
She looked up from her music and I caught her eye.
Chorus: On the first violin was a brown-eyed girl,
Her hair hung down in a flaxen curl.
And as she played in a plaintive key,
I caught her eye and she was looking at me.
2. After the recital she demurely rose,
Turning away from me.
Out upon the deck breathing the salt-spray air,
Gazing on a troubled sea.
We engaged in talk and her eyes turned sad;
She was recently bereaved of a long-lived lad.
He was fighting as a conscript in the Kenyan war,
When a Man-Mau bullet struck him and it laid him low.
Chorus: On the first violin was a brown-eyed girl,
Her hair hung down in a flaxen curl.
And as she played in a plaintive key,
I caught her eye and she was looking at me.
Bridge: I did not see her disembark.
We had connected but too soon.
Her healing heart would find a path
To someone else.
With a busy schedule to pursue,
Of publishers and speaking coast-to-coast,
At small cafés I ended days
In missed romance.
3. I was on a sister-liner when a year had passed,
Homeward bound and free.
In the starboard lounge, I was waiting for the band,
Without expectancy,
The conductor stood with his baton poised,
Gesturing the audience to quell their noise.
When the first violin took the stage to play,
My brown-eyed girl was smiling and she caught my eye.
Final chorus: On the first violin was a brown-eyed girl,
Her hair hung down in a flaxen curl.
And as she played in a major key,
She caught my eye and she was smiling at me.
And as she played in a major key,
She caught my eye and she was smiling at me.
© Dave Pierce, 2015