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