Bath To Newport

The Kennebec,
Winds calm
At sunrise,
Captain Rich
Guides us down,
Past islets,
Light houses,
Beacons,
Shoals,
The slack current
Glistens
Like a mirror.
As the sun
Comes up.
The pilot departs,
And she is
Finally ours
To take home.

By evening,
Green water,
Turns to white,
As it vaults
The bow,
And coats us,
With an icy
Glaze.
By dawn,
Our haze gray
Coat,
Is transformed,
With thirty knot
Streaks of white.
We've gained
Too many
Tonnes.

Florida,
And home,
Must wait.
Tuck into
Newport,
Not a garden spot
In early March,
But a haven,
Still.
A place
To steam
The ice off,
To lose a few
Ugly tonnes,
To wait out
The wind,
To eat without
Having to
Hang on
For dear life,
For a day
Or two,
We'll see how
The weather looks
Tomorrow.
We're in
A world class resort,
In the
Wrong season.