Boats

Nearest, a dinghy in bright yellow plastic;

a dad with three kids thought their ride fantastic.

Then a canoe, with oars like windmills blowing,

circling and dipping in an arc never slowing.

A regatta of yachts sailed in competition,

bright, white triangles on a deep dark ocean.

I slept on the sand until the close of day.

When I woke, all the boats had gone away.

Mary Charman-Smith