The Boat of Sand
When I was young, my Father built for me,
a boat of sand, so very grand, to sail upon the sea.
My sister was the cabin girl and made to swab the decks,
we searched the seas for pirates to turn their boats to wrecks.
Our anchor was a bucket filled with stones and sand,
tossed with caution overboard, if we spotted land.
Bright red spades were used for oars or cricket bats sometimes,
we’d row for miles across the sea in search of foreign climes.
The sun would beat down on us and turn our backs to red,
Mum would row up next to us and put hats upon our head,
then apply some magic lotion which turned us very white,
this hid us from the pirates, if they turned up for a fight.
We’d sail into the harbour after our sea dreams,
and be treated to ice lollies or cornets with ice creams.
Many years have passed now since those holidays in Devon,
I wonder if my Father still builds boats in heaven?
Staring at the cotton clouds on a summer’s day;
watching the formations gently drift away.
I’m sure I see a boat of sand gently drifting by;
Searching for adventures, high up in the sky.
David Pendragon: David’s Wondrous Stories.