“sailing day”

White sails unfurl in the whispering morn,  
Sun gleams gold as the world is reborn,  
Ropes creak soft with the gulls’ briny cries,  
We launch from the harbor where salt breezes rise.

The breeze is a promise, light fingers and fair,  
Sets a course on the water, fresh-scented air—  
Splashes of sunlight on quicksilver waves,  
And laughter that dances from bow to the staves.

The shore to a line in the blue-green embrace  
Of an opal horizon, slow-spinning in place.  
Clouds drift in billows—our patterned parade—  
As the sea plays its music, both daring and staid.

Compass and courage, chart folded with care,  
We tack with adventure, we jibe past despair—  
For here on the water, with wind in our hands,  
We follow the stories that beckon new lands.

At dusk, as the day bows to lavender hues,  
With nets full of secrets and pockets of views,  
We glide to the harbor with salt in our hair—  
Oh, the joy of the journey, the freedom of air.

For sailing day lingers, embroidered in gold,  
A tapestry woven in currents and bold,  
The heart of the sailor will always recall  
The taste of the ocean, the thrill of it all.

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