The boat

A boat is waiting
Silently in harbour
Underneath the branches
Of the old oak tree.

Waiting for the arms
Which will row it
Take it to lands unknown
Braving all the mysteries.

It waits swaying in waves
Caused by morning breeze
While the sun decides
To leave its bed to meet us.

The boat waits and listens
To the breeze, river and birds
As they tell him stories
Of the lands which lie ahead.