Poem: The Making of Sails

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The Making of Sails

It is hard work, sail making.
Done in a dark room,
the only light through doors and windows.
Second-hand brightness with no horizons,
heavy cloth cut and draped to ancient patterns,
reinforced and grommeted,
every stitch vital but mind numbing
in its repetitiveness,
Bound to shellacked spars,
drudge work, but vital
to the journey, vital
to free the land-locked soul, vital
to the flying of soul and imagination,
set free
by the work.

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