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