Beneath the moonless, starry sky,

A TP52 sailboat sets sail to fly,

Around the rugged west side of San Clemente,

A race of speed and skill, a grand adventure to be.

The wind in our hair, the salt on our skin,

The constellations above, a celestial spin,

Orion’s belt, the Big Dipper, and Cassiopeia,

Guiding our way, through the darkness of night.

The waves crash against the hull,

As we race towards victory, oh so dull,

The stars our witness to this grand affair,

A race of courage, a race of flair.

As we round the island’s western shore,

The Southern Cross rises, a celestial chore,

A gybe to the east, a change of course,

Navigating by stars, a celestial force.

With the Southern Cross abeam our guide,

We sail towards the sunrise, our journey to abide,

The eastern horizon begins to glow,

As we race towards the dawn, our spirits aglow.

The sun finally rises, a new day is born,

As we race towards the finish line, our spirits are torn,

Between the thrill of the race and the beauty of the night,

A TP52 sailboat, a celestial delight.