An evening stroll along the shore
revealed a giant-sized,
floating mass of wooden art.
I stopped to analyze.

It’s base was wide, of sturdy wood
of the choicest cut and grain.
The behemoth was connected to the dock
by a weathered and worn old chain.

Upon the base there stood a rail of ornately carv-ed teak
and on the front a cherub, mouth open as if to speak.
A rounded pole rose up toward heaven with a cross-arm intersection
and at the top an arrow revealed the wind’s direction.

A passer-by enlightened me.
I must have looked perplexed.
“It’s a ship. It sails.
Distant ports it connects.”

Of course, I thought, now that I knew
its name and its intention.
“By God,” I said. “I think you’re right,”
as was the convention.

From where could such a thing have come?
What forces put it there?
No maker was now coming forth
to claim a beast so rare.

My own abilities were such
that I could not endeavor
to build an object such as this.
I was not that clever.

“Could any man,” I thought aloud
“take on a task so big?”
No man I knew was man enough
to build this giant rig.

If no one nearby claimed the feat,
and no one I knew could,
then some other explanation
must explain this art in wood.

Hours of thought and supposition
helped me to see the light.
I was able to rationalize
this object here tonight.

Winds and tides must have stirred
the seas and forests near,
and finally probability won
and the beauty just appeared.