RETURN OF THE BOAT
Waiting on the quayside at dawn,
Anxious eyes strained to sea
Their men home from o’er the horizon
In a still small boat ploughing
Through the mighty rough combers,
Now disappearing , now reappearing.
Glad to have them back home
From the deep unknown where
Only a wooden plank separates
Life from the depth,
As she crosses the bar
To ease down to the quayside.