This poem follows a terrible night of storms here in Scotland.

Oh how I feel this torrid pain,
The gale force winds and driving rain,
The impossible flexing of the window pane,
My thoughts only on one Great Dane.

Crashing waves and thunderous winds,
Maelstroms, cyclones, the fear in our minds,
Thunder, lightning, this nights such a bind,
My father had warned me of nights of this kind.

Morning comes and the storm eases,
The gods must know, to me this pleases,
To the horizon my eyes are scouring,
Thank the lord,….. she is on her mooring.

Callum, Red Dane, 2007


Kevlar, Dacron, Terylene too,
These things we use to sail the oceans blue.
Tacking, gybing, oh, and broaching too,
These are the things that racers do.

Shouting, screaming, grinding and winding,
The crew jump to the the racer boys minding.
He has to be first, nothing else will do,
Come on you lot or i'll have a new crew.

Come on old son and slow yourself down,
Half your crew you're going to drown,
You don't need to inflict this needless pain,
Come sail with me in my Great Dane.

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