Pembroke

Scanning hulls, I notice the

boats all have evocative names,

they’re all someone’s babies

after all, many painted blue to grace

the bathwater waves.

They nestle, neatly berthed,

tightly tucked as orphans

in a dormitory, some

seem to wait in vain

for their owners’ return,

doze cheek by jowl, as

the harbour’s gentle swell

jostles them comfortably

awake.

Dawn unveils a new day

with the musical clinks

and taps of ropes on rigging,

a lively uplifting overture

and perhaps, once again

the anticipation of new voyages.

Published by grahamrsherwood