This is a poem I wrote for my son this Christmas.
The boat sways restlessly,
silent and shackled to a bollard,
the white sails furled and still.
Water laps indifferently at the hull
as the yellow-clad boy lovingly releases
the boat from its confinement and from
what anchors his spirit to the immovable land.
He feels a heartbeat in the water,
a drumming rhythm in the waves.
A true wind blows as he tacks through sea spray.
The mast aims at heaven,
the bow points to tomorrow.
The God of the wind mightily pulls
the sails through the summer air and
sends protection from the power of the sea.
This is the vessel that carries all
boyhood freedom dreams,
the unknown world and all its tears.
It is here the boy becomes a man.
As he comes about to see eternity on the horizon.
He owns his place in the universe.
The young man turns and looks towards the stern
and understands in the boat's wake
is winter - and all that he will leave behind.