Sandie and I recently celebrated our twentieth anniversary (the years go by, don't they). She craves wooden boats and sailing, and I'm sure she wishes we had the money, and she the time, to own and enjoy a sailboat. Doesn't seem too likely these days. Instead, sort of compensating, we live on an island and she commutes to her job by ferry (while I cruise the computer).
I'd love to buy her a sailing sloop or yacht or whatever, but all I've managed to give her (with a bow to The Philadelphia Story and later great musical version High Society) is this poor substitute...
Yar
Her lines are graceful.
A full stern tapering for'ards
to a shapely bow,
roomy below, with a nicely
fitted galley, and her deck
all of teak, she's comfortable.
Where others pitch and yaw,
with her deep draw she
maintains an even keel;
and when we luff, she responds,
quick to my right rudder.
Any time she's had too much
of port, become sluggish
in her motion, we raise anchor
and take to the ocean ways.
She's in her element then,
breasting the open sea;
and when she sails past,
bold as her polished brass,
tacking into the wind
as is her wont, the other boats
might just as well heave to!
All dressed out in her
full rigging, mainsail rounding,
spinnaker bellying out, oh my
but she is yar... and lady enough
to melt the cold heart
of this old jack tar.
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