Poem from Sarah Acton

901 2

Pilot Gig

Oars lick, time splits

as blades flip, pushing

distance, cutting paths,

over-throwing resistance;

pushing the shore past,

pushing away the day.

Was it different then to today?

Eyes set, foreheads wet

with the wave’s blessing and

sweated respect, cursing,

shoulder’s square set to

sea focused in depth, driving

on, lifting through, pushing

out, grinning beyond breath,

beyond the burn, pushing any doubts of return.

Stand and wait for bounties shared

grown from this daring,

call for our return!

stoke the fires higher

and cheer the rowers home.

By Sarah Acton (Lyme Regis rower)

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