Sculler's Song Poem by Roy Ballard

Sculler's Song

Sculls cut water with a sigh;
their dimpled whirlpools circle by;
with just a swish,
smooth as a fish,
as quiet as a lullaby

Sliding forward, sliding back
on a true and narrow rack
I balance on the water's skin,
upon a shell that's paper-thin;
enough to wrap a sculler in.

What's to come is hard to see;
the past lies to the front of me.
I turn to spy
with half an eye
to find behind what is to be.

And so I do not prophesy.
I only skim the waves and try
on otter or on dolphin track,
by willow or the salt sea-wrack,
to pull the sculls and lay them back.