The Journey Poem by Amos Greig

A cold February morn saw three coracles set forth.
Three teams of rowers competed to reach the small island,
located in the lake.

One ship foundered; broke along its keel, plunging crew into icy waters.
Rather than face an icy tomb they were plucked from waters by another boat,
located in the lake.

Black bags, hoops, planks of wood, rope and gaffa tape made up the frame.
The boat builder based his design on ancient coracles, pictures in a book,
located in the lake.

Following ancient waterways, the fifteen crew soared past their competition.
Their vessel fibreglass; streamlined, without soul,
located in the lake.

Celtic pride soared in modern heart as they saw the closing shore.
Soon to sit by open fire and share a drink or two on the island,
located in the lake.

Like mythical Bran, the shipbuilder and his crew closed with their sacred goal.
Promises of sausage and beer beckoned to them from out the February mists,
located on the lake.

Irish ingenuity beat modern technology as the vessel came to shore.
Like journeymen of old they gingerly set foot on the land,
located on the lake.