Can't Without Canvas
I'm tired. Tired of hearing about how wonderful ships are-how smoothly they glide across the waters, how beautiful, how sleek, how captains are always following in love with them and it simply isn't fair. People speak of ropes and rigging, of rudders and bowsprits, masts and everything else. But not us.
Ships, seamen, the occasional sea woman, understand. They know how important we are. Writers and poets however, seem to add us as an afterthought or merely as a part of a ship. They name us only when necessary. We do not ask for praise or poems or medals. We merely want to hear that we matter too. A whispered thanks or a smile would do.
Day and night we strain, pull and wear ourselves to threads. We have no one with which to change our watch, no other to do what we do, no time to rest, relax or take a breath.Men from all countries landlocked, island, desert, tundra, tropical, woodland, urbane, rural ride what we move. From the very first moment we are made and hoisted lives depend on our skill to find the wind. Working with her we move grand ships of all kinds. Dories, galleons, men o' war, brigs, rafts, merchant, royal, navy-- pirate just to name a few. We persuade her to push us towards home. When she leaves us to push some other sail, we must ask for her to return quickly, to spare those that we pull. It is what we do.
Please, just a smile and we'll be renewed and ready to call for the wind forever.