by joetwo

Stately procession

Dignified signs of force

Yet powered by the basic elements

At the mercy of the wind and tide

Moving with slow grandeur

No noise save for the creak of wood

And the billow of sail

Relics of a bygone age

Out of date

But not forgotten

Like a faithful old horse, or tired hunting dog

Maintained long past usefulness

A labour of love

Retained as a memory

Of a simpler time, long past

A time when sail ruled the world