At quiet hours, by faint and waning light,
I pore over the days’ as yet naught done.
Upon the drifting darkness of the night,
Lest not the light of day may end my run.
And noisy is my cabin; rather loud
With rigging’s clatterbangs against the hull.
I have charted plenty, and compass bowed;
The map, like windbound sails, is plenty full.
But, no sloop am I aboard in course a’set,
As this vessel roars for journey anew,
And so on this ship, one must not forget,
‘Tis a journey best a’lit by the crew.
Though self may seem a droplet in the sea,
Know the downpour ripples beyond the quay.