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.