The Victor’s Cup

Press, Volume CVIII, Issue 31832, 9 November 1968, Page 18

The Victor’s Cup

Puss on [or fining salt sea-sprey. Lust [or the feel of a wheel, oil-stick, Joy in the heat of high-noon sun. Another surge. the pace is quick. This is the love that fills your heart. 5 ThU boat ■ maiden in your hand. * You breathlessly await the start; The fiag will fall, the crowd will stand. Then into the fastness of your mind. All ether thoughts must fly. As hurtling on. all else behind. Your urgent task you ply. Its fust away in the salt sea-spray. As first you still remain. The motor roars. Your fast boat soars, Lord of its domain; But urgent thoughts now hurry in. As a challenge now appears. A worried look replaces your grin. As that fast new boat appears. K A turn to port, to face your wake, Abruptly cross his bow. And lacking nerve, he's forced to turn. He'll never cutch you now. But hazards loom, as shores foreclose. On this your mortgaged way. The breath of doom, it’s hot and elose. As you twist and swerve end away. Two buoys then there, the pace is fast. And now the gap is closing. Two boats are free, from perils you've passed. And now your stern they re nosing. The finish Uns is now so near. I But those boats are nearer still. Your heart stands still in fear, great fear, To win you must, you will. A final surge of unknown strength. The throttle bends in two. You cross the line by one boat’s length. You know that it will do. The Victor's cup, the cheers are yours. But remember this little while. A certain fuming tired speedboat. It eannot hear these cheers end roars. Nor see your happy smile. Nor know you think It the best afloat.— W. M. E. O'CONNOR.