Where astern our screws thrust deep
And streamed our spliced log line
The bows break the forceful seas
As we sail through the salty brine
At knots we travel across oceans
To ports across the world
Our anchors oiled, pistons thrusting
Clocking the ebbing tides
Dolphins race our soiled skin
Rust and weeds abound
Sextants searching the horizon
Looking, searching for the mid-day sun
The ticking clock, chronometer, time
Position, chart protraction
Stainless steel dividers stride the charts
Finding yesterdays location
Radar searching the far horizon
Find shadows of a tempest, storm
Time to alter course for arrival
For docking, anchors oiled
Ropes laid out for the coming morn.
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