An Ark. Firmly run aground in a safe harbour.
Once a refuge for animals, milked two by two.
Now a home, lovingly crafted.
Formidably hulled: all Shipshape and Bristol fashion.
A beam-boned whale, with portholes
Peering out at rolling landscapes.
All wood a creaking, flexing, holding fast.
Scything the wind. Enduring rains.
Prow raised up to the navigating stars:
Unfurling repose, steering sleep.
© Tom Tide 2016