Young White Cotton

Like a yacht in sail,

She cuts and glides

And leaves behind her

The old battered dear,

The tugboat bent in a lifetime of service

And bound around with old grey cladding,

The woollen hull,

The barnacled coat,

Protection from a world which mocks

And shlooshes by in a glossy skin

Of energy tan and burnished brass,

Perfection in sail,

Immaculate motion

On the clear blue sea of her life.

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