Rommel John Miller

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An Hour Of Sailing

Blue is the sky on this clear summer's morn,
Shimmering is the sun on the sea,
Gentle is the breeze sweeping the bay,
Casting the waves on the shore.

Bustling with life are the boats by the pier,
As their sails unfurl toward the sky,
And spinnakers swell in the fresh open breeze,
Grasping the hand of the wind.

Gliding like birds as they follow their course,
Tossed by the waves of the sea.
Tacking, jibbing, coming about,
Rigging their sails, fastening their sheets.

As I overlook this wide-open bay,
I see the sails of a sloop,
Of yawls, of ketches, of schooners and prams,
Heel in the fresh breeze of day.

Angrily the clouds drift over the sea,
And the sky slowly turns to gray,
And the boats once more return to their piers,
Dropping their sails as the sun slips away.

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