Maxine Ireland

I stood on the bow of "Waisinda" in the first grey light of day.
I scarce could discern the outline of the hills beyond the bay.
For the blackness of the night-sky had just begun to pale
And the only sound was the flap, flap, flap, of the morning breeze in the sail.

The stars, no longer brilliant, hung pale in a milky sky,
playing 'peek-a-boo' through a wispy cloud as it drifted by
The sea was dark and forbidding, the shoreline hidden from sight,
But in the East rosy glow that heralded the light.

The gentle rhythmic splashing of waves against the bow,
As she ploughed the tropic waters in that grey ethereal hour,
Brought a sense of quiet solitude; of suspended animation
As I pondered the day's awakening in silent contemplation

Soon the eastern sky became ablaze with vivid orange and gold
and mirrored a ribbon colour over the sea as it rolled
Wave upon wave like a core de ballet dancing in unity.
With the crests of the waves a mantle of silver filigree.

Then the fiery sun tipped the mountain peaks and tinged the cloud with red
And the silence was shattered by the screeching of gulls as they circled overhead
A tiny spiral of purple smoke curled up from a village fire.
As the light came running down the hill to the beach as the sun rose higher

Now the stars were gone, the sky was blue and I was amazed to see
The rugged mountains, the ragged cliffs and the gentle rolling sea.
My attention was caught by the dolphins at play it was fanciful to see
It seemed they were showing "Waisinda" the way. As they frolicked ahead with glee.
Out before the bow they raced; out for the wide blue sea.