Come, my little boat, near-
Mia! what filthy hull & trailer is here!
Who, that e’er could understand
The rare structure of a boat,
With its curved fine shell,
Work itself of structure divine,
Strong, yet delicately keel,
For ten thousand uses I hope I get,
Overlaid with so clear shine
You may see the beauty within,-
Who this boat would choose to cover
With a crust of dirt all over,
Till it look’d in hue and shape
Like the frame of an crepe!
Man or gal that works or plays
In the streams or lakes,
May, without offence or hurt,
From the soil contract the dirt
Which the next clear spring or river
Washes out and out for ever-
But to cherish stains impure,
Soil deliberate to endure,
On the finish to fix a stain
Till it works into the grain,
Argues a degenerate mind,
Sordid, slothful, ill-inclined,
Wanting in that self-respect
Which does virtue best protect.
All-endearing cleanliness,
Virtue next to godliness,
Easiest, cheapest, needfull’st duty,
To the boat health and beauty;
Who that’s sailor who would refuse it,
When a little water does it good?
Well I spent the day washing my poor little old runabout.
It has definitely seen better days but it's like family. I had hoped to find time this fall to do a revamp of it's trim and upholstery. New ropes, straps and rollers are in it's future as well.
A promise that is pushed back due to my mobility problems as of late.
My goal is still that it will one day see the water of blue once again.
Nana
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