Skiff

In the quiet harbour’s amber glow,
A slender skiff drifts, slow and low,
Its wooden hull a whispered tale,
Of tide‑kissed journeys and the gull’s soft wail.

Oars dip in rhythm, silver‑bright,
Cutting through the mirrored light,
Each stroke a breath of salty air,
Carrying dreams beyond the pier, beyond despair.

When dusk concedes to night’s embrace,
The skiff rests, a tranquil space,
Dreaming of horizons yet to roam—
A humble vessel, calling home.