SAILING HOME

            SAILING HOME 

Our house is a harbour full of boats,
All with their sails billowing
In a kind sea breeze.
Some of them have already set sail
Ending up behind one of the clocks.
Not the clocks on the walls,
They only have tiny boats,
Sometimes with no sails at all.
A carved matchstick for oars
To move that little boat along. 

That sounds like hard work! 

Out on those boiling seas
Or tempestuous waters
Pulling those oars,
Being soaked by high waves
Or fudging a stroke, bringing river water
Cascading over our shoulders. 

Still, that’s only the boats
On the big clocks.
The ones behind the chiming,
Polished and shiny small clocks
Have their sails up ready to go
And us ready to go with them. 

Not forgetting the sad shipwrecks
Washed up in drawers full of old pens and dominoes.
Sailors sleeping under tight blue counterpanes,
Eyelashes curving soft shadows on their tired faces.
Do not disturb them.   Cherish them. 

It will all start over again when Spring comes,
Its playful winds blowing the clock boats
And the windowsill boats,
The boats hidden in drawers and the boats sailing
Over the summery shelves of cupboards,
Stretching and tugging, splashing and sailing,
Joyful and exultant,
Over home waters and foreign seas. 

With a bit of luck, us, and all the sailors will be with them.
The moon looking down on us at night,
The clocks ticking and the sun shining on every horizon,
Until this long family are all together again. 

All at  home. 

                                         ©2022 Gwen Grant

HAPPY NEW YEAR EVERYONE