I do have a boat.
A poor leaky thing it is
With a wonky rudder
And a quivering sail.
In fair weather it takes me where I want to go,
But when the storm breaks
I cling to the mast, rising to the crest of each new wave
And plummeting to the depths
To arrive in a new place with the lull.
One morning I heard a glorious song;
A full throated trilling
With the sweetest falling note.
I searched the trees and found a robin
Engulfed by the song;
His whole body puffing and swelling with each note.
His tiny beak seemed inadequate
For such piercing purity.
He was abandoned to the sound that occupied his tiny frame
And seemed to come not of him, but through him.
Then it ceased.
Great ships pass by
With engines that cut through the waves leaving white-tipped furrows,
All barren ploughing; no wind in their sails, but engines powering
Relentlessly forward
And back across the waves
With souls oblivious to the mighty mountains and the
Dreadful depths.
Cut through, forge forward to more ocean
Or more of the same.
Over the top go the great ships
Like grand dams brushing away
The hoi polloi.
A flurry of exquisite cut and sparkling ore
Sweeping through
But surface dusting only.
No highs and lows, no bobbing,
No clinging to the mast
No robin.