The Sail billows as if a smallish cloud,
The harbor echoes with the whistle loud,
Telling the steel workers it’s time to go,
As I tack across the wind’s outward blow.

Ducks drift to shorelines filled with swaying reeds,
Sun touches the mountains and the sky bleeds,
Reds turn to purple then the sun is gone,
Deserting the sky to the moon till dawn.

Dropping sail and tying to old dock,
Pausing to listen to the tolling clock,
Strobe neon lights beckons from the tavern,
With brew names they bid the sailor welcome.

But with a smile I’m on my homeward way,
I’ll take their welcome on another day.