Silent Craftsmanship

In the quiet hours, where water meets wood, A craftsman's hands weave a gentle mood. The boat, a canvas, worn and true, A testament to labor, old and new. The oars, like skeletal fingers, stretch, A symphony of motion, a gentle clutch. The men, with faces weathered, strong, Their work, a dance, where skill belongs. In the background, a blurred throng, A chorus of industry, a busy song. Yet, in the foreground, a serene hush, A moment's peace, where craftsmanship rush. The black and white tones, a timeless frame, A snapshot of a bygone era's name. The wooden boat, a story to be told, Of hands that shaped it, young and old.