What blessed men are those
Who glide amidst the snow.
Their eyes their guide
and hands made plans
To get them where to go.

What blessed men are these,
who flit along the breeze,
Sail raised on high,
helm and hull their only ride
To brave the ocean's freeze

What blessed life is mine,
To sit and stay inside.
With hand and pen ink-dipped
I start upon adventure's trip,
to catch each syllable and rhyme.