The Whim of Wind (Churchill)

The Whim of Wind


The wind is of whim,
From it's whisper to it's roar.
'Tis of mystic, and of magic,
Of misfortune, and of lore.
Unpredictable, uncontrollable,
...Yet control, it shall no more.

Nay not perfect to predict the wind,
near never nye control it.
Ye may control it's use in time,
In a single moment.
Ah to sail, said breeze of moment,
And play the tactics game.
Away-away, away I say,
To play the tactics game.

When sailors don delightful speed.
And toss and turn it like the best.
I spy the tactical thinker,
For there in lies the rest.

Breeze-Buoy-Boats
We read them all,
We study them indeed.
For there in lies our sanctuary,
The basis for our creed.

Bow-out, bow-out to start,
It would be so fine.
Squeeze those above, roll 'em below,
No matter where on line.
Bow-out, bow-out I shout,
The joys to be bow-out.

Clean air, clear mind,
First shift goes up the race course.
'tween most and mark,
You'll show some spark,
But you don't have to be the 1 horse.

Cross them when you can my mates,
Drag race them for a while.
Read the breeze and drive the boat,
Good position is our style.

Play a lane with poise and grace.
Stray not middle, stray not wide.
Give yourself a happy face,
And try to win your side.

Downwind lanes are hard to keep,
And the wind fills from behind.
But we will sail our angles,
And pay the wing some mind.

We will jibe with exclamation,
We will jibe with joy.
And transition, aye transition,
Transition is our toy.

Gates of heaven or of gates of hell,
The weapon is boat handling.
Avoid the pile, skirt the pack,
And consolidate the gaining.

Play off the fleet
On your last beat
And it keep it realistic.
Stand your ground,
Put the hammer down.
It couldn't be more simplistic



-Coach