Crossing the channel
Foul fumes fly free from the funnel,
diesels drum from down below,
winches whine to wind in the wires.
The siren sounds, the ship set free.
Leaving the lee of safe harbour,
through the heads, across the bar.
Ensign snaps in the breeze,
we feel the swell, flex the knees.
Faster now the engines thrum,
propeller thrashes, bulkheads hum.
Spume is flying, seagulls crying,
MS Wild Rover leaving Dover.
Changing course, away from land,
windward white cliffs on the port hand.
Steering South, wind waves in the hair.
Was the sea, now la mer.
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