Crests of Fortune
The tides of life are rough and toilsome, I'll not deny,
should
I with tangled rig, approach the main.
I'd
rather die, than wrestle so with halyard gone awry,
though
when the sea is calm, and winds are bliss,
then
on the ocean breast of life, with joy I lie,
more
hope from harbour, than from gales I wrest.
'Tis
not from chart or book or poetry well wraught
The
balance of this keel is kept or learned,
but
by the inner main the sextant's set and caught,
seas
of emotions and the inward thought
make
bold wights shudder and the wayward lost,
Yet
from such bourne life's treasure true is delved and bought.
7 August, 1999
(C) Copyright 1999
Alice Thorpe
All Rights Reserved
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