by Rory Turnbull

With charts, once showing routes across the sea,
Rejected now (some lost, some thrown away),
And ships exposed upon the ocean grey,
What should we do in life’s great odyssey,
This parlous passage to felicity?
For, in the swell, the surf, the spiteful spray,
Drowned by the water-flood, I fear we may
Be swallowed up by deep uncertainty.
But see! Look up! To steer the course that’s straight,
And, through the waves, to keep a steady keel,
The stars, though clouded, they can be our guide.
By them let us thus try to navigate.
For, always making for some high ideal,
We, starry-eyed, can hope to ride the tide.