Sloop

Upon the tide’s soft, silver seam,
A sloop awakes with billowing gleam.
Her single mast, a slender spine,
Holds sails that kiss the salty brine.

The boom swings low, the jib draws tight,
She slices through the dawning light.
Through estuary’s hush and harbour’s sigh,
She threads the reeds where gulls just fly.

When gusts rise fierce and clouds grow grey,
She heels but keeps her steady way.
Her rudder, true, her hull, so sound,
Defies the storm, holds steady ground.

At eventide, when waves grow calm,
She drops her anchor, finds her balm.
Lanterns glow upon her rail,
A quiet tale of wind and sail.

O sloop, you dance on Britain’s tide,
A humble craft where dreams reside.
In every creek, each restless bay,
You whisper freedom’s gentle sway.