Sunlit canvas, wind-filled sails,
Songs of seascapes of ocean,
Southern horizons, a seaworthy ship,
Of trade winds and currents of motion.
It's all in the rhyme of creaking wood masts,
Pine pitch and wind-blown salt spray,
The foaming wake of our ship's great oak bow,
On track for our next emerald bay.
We left ship at this port of call,
Furling her sails for their sojourn,
She rocks gently, alone in the bay,
Sea, ship and sky, each mirrored in turn.
We've seen many captains, and many more ships,
And great is the domain of the whole of the sea.
No skipper before have we ever seen,
Who piloted so grand a vessel as he.
It's his last voyage with us, so it is said,
Our skipper that piloted us safely here,
No last voyage at all, for a solo he charts,
A grand next adventure to steer.
Forbes April, 2001