The Rowers Boat

A lazy summers afternoon for most
Rays of light kissing the river and her banks
A quiet whistle amongst green leaves
Laughter of children playing with parents at the ready

But for these men their boat calls to boast
Strength, subtlety, precision, pride define the ranks
At the boathouse each their oar retrieves
Pick up their beast and grasp her steady

Take her to the still waters edge
Clamber on and in rigorousness prepare
As cox calls out each number
They embark a single, united being

Instructions from coach behind thick hedge
Reverberate through softly swaying air
This mythical creative awakening from slumber
Stretching arms in cool water so freeing

Gliding seemingly effortlessly over clear glass
Oars drop as her run is taken
Turning she glimpses sight of her foe
And at the start the two wait

Before the mark an eternity could easily pass
After any thought past the finish is forsaken
In each passing second the pain is let go
For with victory she has a date

By Pete Scopes