The Shippen a storm

An Ark. Firmly run aground in a safe harbour.

Once a refuge for animals, milked two by two.

Now a home, lovingly crafted.

Formidably hulled: all Shipshape and Bristol fashion.

A beam-boned whale, with portholes

Peering out at rolling landscapes.

All wood a creaking, flexing, holding fast.

Scything the wind. Enduring rains.

Prow raised up to the navigating stars:

Unfurling repose, steering sleep.

 

© Tom Tide 2016

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