Could we but have the
clarity of fate
Or see the future as we do the past,
Little would we crave the mystery
Unknown to those who know what lies ahead.
Mountains make horizons definite,
Blocking off infinity, the last
Unbroken wave upon this solid sea,
Singing songs that we have long since heard.
Do, then, those few sailors celebrate,
Alone amidst the watery wilderness,
Yet seeking grandly what it is to
be.
Copyright by Nicholas Gordon. Free for personal or non-commercial use.
