Every morning the sun struggles through piles of cumulous to bring us some light
after the moon sailed in and out of the fleets of dark nimbus all night.
The fickle wind comes and goes,
it shifts in speed and velocity with our sails in its throes.
Grandfather east wind blows ever so slightly;
we head southwest, all canvas flying lightly.
Then wham from the south comes the squall;
Howling mad wind with rain starting to fall.
Shorten up the sails, here comes the gales;
auto pilot lets go, we give hand steering a go.
Now heading west by north west,
When we’ll arrive is a guess
adding a zig to our zag
Our speed and performance leaves no room to brag
Lumpy seas pass under the keel,
a few minutes go by then we stop the low heel,
now bouncing along in the calm wake of the squall,
seeing the next one line up...no break at all.
Wind backs to the east
We put the sails out again
Rocking along on a starboard tack
Til the south squall comes back
And we turn tail to the wind
Flying wing on wing with the waves again.
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