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.