My Poetry. The Watery Home.

Icy cold winds
Batter the sides;
The boat is trembling
As the barge collides.

It's our watery home,
We have known no other;
Never settled on land,
Never needed to bother.

Living is simple,
Making a bob or two,
Gliding on canals
With our son and crew.

Fuel increases,
But still we sail away;
Our home on the water
Gets better each day.

Transporting goods
From place to place,
Tons of room,
Loads of space.

We wouldn't change
This way of living:
Free of stress,
And so much giving.

The barge is our sanctuary;
May she live on
When buildings and land
Have eventually gone.

© William Sinclair Manson 2025