Today and yesterday I’ve been at our little boat, called Loon, down by the River Lee. Last summer we spent the season on her and had a wonderful experience, definitely the best in my life. Mum and Dad have been cleaning her and repairing her, while we’ve been fishing and kayaking. This poem is about kayaking and how good it feels to be back on the water. If I had to describe the time in one word it would be: MAGICAL.
BACK ON MY LITTLE BOAT
Time and time again the waves hit,
the bow of my little boat,
bobbing me up and down a bit.
The wind blows in my face
and the boat slightly tips,
a contented smile lingers on my lips.
A moorhen cries,
their calls echo across the water.
A shining fish,
making ripples as it breaks the surface,
not one glinting disturbance does the sun miss.
It casts a path of yellow gold,
I watch, as a story in my mind begins to unfold,
then jotted down on dirty paper it is told.
I close my eyes,
the river sighs, as everything goes to bed,
it alone runs through the night,
it never rests its head.
I’m sad when my time on the water is up,
I feel like a pup,
who has ceased to play,
but I watch as the sun casts its last golden ray.