This Rugged Craft
The boat is worn with age and battle.
Its wood is rough. No paint remains.
Each board is bleached by sun and salt water.
It is my kind of boat,
not a show thing, but a survivor,
its beauty not a thing of paint and baubles,
but a stout frame, made of cedar
and certainty of craftsmanship,
of knowing what matters
and what does not.
About this poem
Surviving seems to be on my mind today.
The picture was taken at Mystic Seaport in Mystic, CT.