Tuesday, August 16, 2011
I would like to think that, as seas become rough and my life-boat is tossed upon the foam, I will have the stamina and confidence to scale the mast and adjust the sails -- always keeping within sight of a lighthouse light and the safety of a home harbor.
When wind shifts blow my little boat off stream,
And seas begin to toss me side-to-side,
I search horizons for a lighthouse gleam,
For there's nowhere on this ocean to hide.
The temper of the sea defines my path,
Swift changeable as clouds that sail the sky,
Unforgiving and fluid in its wrath,
And heeding neither need nor sailor's cry.
As long the westering sun seeks its bed,
Cleaving gray shadows with its brilliant rays,
I'll ride the tide, and bathed in blazing red,
Seek out the silent solace of home quays.
Then, when the last gleam of the sunset pales,
You'll find me on the spar, adjusting sails.
Posted by Mick at 7:16 PM