With the ****’s crow sets the sail
surging forward, enroute with a white sail
by fair-weather the seeker starts the sail
To a life’s grail he directs the sail.

Comes a time when the storm must rise,
with its torrents on a soaring rise.
Deemed it’d be the sailor’s pulse should rise,
with the slash of each wave that may rise.

A calm dispose be for action his first course;
A compass to guide be for action his next course;
The will to persist be for him a right course;
And with his Maker’s blessing he’ll reach his destined course.