• You must have at times,
  Thought into the past,
  Where some things go out
  While others last
  What comes to my mind is
  The old Morse code,
  That has weathered the storms
  From any abode.

• To talk with ones fingers
  Is surely an art,
  Of any info you
  Care to impart,
  In most conditions
  The signals get through,
  While the same about phone
  Is simply not true.

• Those dits and dahs
  Cut through the trash,
  Of near by noise or
  Lightning's crash.
  To the sensitive ears
  Of the hams receiver,
  Who records this data
  With ardent fever.

• He knows he's doing
  Something unique,
  (in such poor conditions,
  That's quite a feat)
  To roger the   message
  That came off the air,
  These brass pounders
  Sure do have that flair

• They say Morse ops
  Are a dying breed,
  But don't despair,
  There's always that need,
  That when conditions get rough
  for the new automation,
  Be rest assured,
  There'll be need for your station.

• CW is dying?
  Believe it never,
  This mode will be 'round
  Forever and ever.
  But one thing is sure,
  What we really need,
  Is to relay our knowledge
  To the younger breed.

• To carry the torch,
  Long after we're gone,
  To send Morse code
  Through the air like a song.
  When at last,
  Silent keys pull that lever,
  We can rest in peace,
  It's CW forever.

       Written by:
      Jim Hatherley,     WA1TBY (SK)