Cruising fifteen knots from Casa Blanc to the Canaries, slow like flying DC three’s,
Flying away singing like a canary leaving home.
I’ve checked the chart, the log, and the weather.
Dropping trails as the watch officer I tell.
That I am the one in the ocean with three sea’s coming at me.
Two to three meter swells ring our bell quite gracefully.
I’ve slipped all my lines,
But I’m still bound for the Atlantic.
Ducking under hurricane Vince,
Some start to wince at our inevitability,
But I keep my stability.
Dolphins on the bow I sleep
At the collision bulkhead,
I dream.
As I’m being becalmed the moon turns red
In the Albouran Sea
Been by Conception Bank to the Marine Reserve.
Oh, do I deserve.
Las Palmas will protect us.
Sometimes no targets are OK.
Dusk’s inverted in the Canary Current.
I have the con.
Fifteen minutes keep passing me by,
As six minute trails keep getting dropped.
