A small boat sailing,
Drifting just off the shore.
The compass is failing,
No lighthouse on the moor.
Alone without starlight,
Waves rock her cradle,
Pulled by the moon kite,
A slender white ladle.
She struggles through the night,
Rudderless and fearful.
Will morning ever come,
Happily tearful?
Til then quietly hum,
A lullaby of old,
To calm the night inside,
And brighten the dark cold.
The ocean beckons wide,
Speaking of dawns elsewhere.