An Ode to Narrow Boating
I sit in our boat in the front - sorry;
bows
And the world drifts lazily by.
I paint roses and castles on
things
While I ponder on how, where and why.
He sits on our boat at the back - sorry;
stern
Steering a course with the tiller.
He plans his maintenance
jobs
Like what hole he can fill with some filler.
As we potter along on the water - sorry;
river
We live life at a different pace
People run past on the
towpath
There's no way we could win such a race.
At night by the towpath we park - sorry;
moor
And we close all the curtains and sing
As we sit by the pot bellied
stove
We wouldn't exchange with a king.
Jane Rice-Oxley