There was stillness all around her as Moongara gently rocked
On the silent Berkeley River as smooth as if she’d docked.
From Darwin ‘cross Bonaparte Gulf she’d been more than ably sailed
And now the crew was reminiscing about what that had entailed.
Stretched out and sipping Champers, they talked of the past days
Spent cross open waters rough with windy sprays.
It had taken nearly sixty hours against a capricious tide
But their spirits hadn’t faltered as they watched the Southern Cross, glide