Forty-nine's a secret stowaway
On every ship that sails with the wind,
Returning to her satisfying life
To be the person that she left behind,
Yielding to the love that rules her day.
Nor should she, when her ship sets sail, stay
In deference to some dictate of the mind.
None need give up the gift of fictive play,
Enriched by more than any life might find.
Copyright by Nicholas Gordon. Free for personal or non-commercial use.