Poem by Dan Stone
Who doesn’t wonder
what makes ships come in.
Or why or when.
What gaze doesn’t widen
at the soaring sight
of dreams coming true
billowing like clouds,
gliding on the wind.
The sway, the swell of it all
can rock our world,
lift our eyes up
from the sometimes dry Earth
to the infinite skies,
the fathomless
and boundless seas.
Forests, trees, can teach
us much about standing still,
learning to lean, to bend
to persevere.
But oh the thrill
the sheer inspiration
of what rides the waves
and steers by stars
and carries us home.
What peerlessly grand schemes
are launched from what seem
distant ports but are really
right where we sit and stand,
those horizons beckoning
holding our gaze.
Boats once untethered
from a dock
are free to sail
with one command
to hoist, to reach
to race, to let the breeze
keep us on course,
power our voyage
and bless this expedition
christened by a choice.
Who doesn’t wonder
what makes ships come in.
Or why or when.
What gaze doesn’t widen
at the soaring sight
of dreams coming true
billowing like clouds,
gliding on the wind.
The sway, the swell of it all
can rock our world,
lift our eyes up
from the sometimes dry Earth
to the infinite skies,
the fathomless
and boundless seas.
Forests, trees, can teach
us much about standing still,
learning to lean, to bend
to persevere.
But oh the thrill
the sheer inspiration
of what rides the waves
and steers by stars
and carries us home.
What peerlessly grand schemes
are launched from what seem
distant ports but are really
right where we sit and stand,
those horizons beckoning
holding our gaze.
Boats once untethered
from a dock
are free to sail
with one command
to hoist, to reach
to race, to let the breeze
keep us on course,
power our voyage
and bless this expedition
christened by a choice.