Ode to our Determined Skipper
They are fickle and fleeting these winds in the bay.
First 20 behind us and time slips away.
But like a sprinter who tires,
A straggling fastball struck long for the play,.
Like a racehorse who stumbles,
Our breeze fades away.
The skipper determined hauls in on the sheets,
No engine should help us, some wind we'll soon greet.
The distance is short, the sun loses it's shine,
The wind now a whisper, will we make it in time?
