A boat upon a windward sea
this far from shore it should not be,
with waves so rough and water deep,
its progress slow, trip incomplete.
The clouds are dark, the air is cold,
The rain is hard, the journey bold.
As night draws near, no stars to guide,
the fear’s intense; the peril, high.
The sailor tries to hold his course;
the weather’s an unfriendly force.
His boat is old with rudder worn,
aged teak and a sail that’s torn.
The bow bursts through the waves so high.
Its mast defies the angry sky.
A full keel holds the boat upright.
The distant shore is out of sight.
The battered boat fights through the storm.
The sailor tires, his thoughts forlorn.
He works to keep the boat afloat.
He cannot rest lest he lose hope.
A single light beams from the south.
Location of the harbor mouth?
He must pursue the beacon light,
without it, he won’t last the night.
When daylight breaks across the sky,
the storm has passed, the waves subside.
The lighthouse beacon shines less bright,
now dampered in the morning light.
The safety of the shoreline beach
is well within the sailor’s reach.
The guiding light helps him survive,
leading him back home alive.
The sailor humbled by the sea
is weary as a man can be.
Again his boat so old and worn
has made it through a nasty storm.
How many times can he prevail
aboard this boat beneath its sail?
Perhaps tomorrow he will be
back out upon the windward sea.
