Sailing



Oh to be sailing over the sea,
hull down, with the shore on the lee.
Hearing the sound of water dashing past the hull,
and the mournful cry of a ravenous gull.
Pitting ones skills against natures wiles,
not another soul in sight, for miles, and miles.
Then come the end of the day,
dropping anchor in a small secluded bay.
Relaxing in the cockpit, supping a drink,
watching the sun, as below the horizon it doth slowly sink.

~Tango~





Poetry by Tango
Read 520 times
Written on 2009-10-28 at 21:27

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John Ashleigh
The high-life. Pure wonderment of a poem. Keep writing!

Your friend,
John.
2010-12-04


CC
beautiful rhythm, last line is so nice
2009-10-29