The trickle of water along the hull,
The slap of the tide against the smooth topsides,
The taste of the seaweed in the air,
And the wide blue sky above.
The flap of the foresail on a gentle breeze,
The pull of the mainsail on a freshening wind,
The whistle of the air through the tall mast’s stays,
And the cry of seagulls carried on the air.
The crack of the boom on a gybing run,
The snap of the jib as she turns about,
The pull of the tiller, ’tis weather helm,
And the sun that dances on the sparkling waves.
The gentle sway of the safe moored boat,
The heel and list as she makes her way,
The splash and spray on a windward beat,
And the clink and clang of the anchor chain.
The still calm peace of a windless day,
The fury and might of the wide sea’s storm,
The horses that ride upon the crests,
And the horizon that stretches far away.
The warming fire of an English pub,
The tired ache of muscles worked,
The welcome home from a passage made,
And a heart that will be free.
