The wind whips and waves the flag flying
On a single sailboat settled in its slip;
Many masts standing tall at attention
Serve as silent sentinels of the sea.
Ripples race across our home harbor,
Wielding wild white capped waves
The solemn sky heaves her heavy bosom
Onto the lap of the lonesome lake.
All await the fury of the stalking storm,
Anticipating its awesome and angry apex.
Ominous omen of solemnity and sorrow;
Pensive, pondering, we wait.