By Larry Fogelberg
When I’m in a skiff with a scull in each hand,
And the only sound is the splash at the catch,
Watching my wake as my puddles expand,
There’s no feeling elsewhere can match.
My skiff, my sculls, myself, we are one,
Together a unit that only we share.
Others may think I’m just having fun,
Cannot fathom my feelings so rare.
For me in my skiff, when the water is calm,
And evening sunlight casts shadows so long,
I wish for a poem with words like a psalm,
To express my emotions, a heartfelt song.
I’m nearing the dock and hear the cox call
In the eight just ahead: “easy all.”