When life’s unfairness buffets you, and nigh
Each tilt is felt, each pitch, each plunge, each veer
At your very centre, and the sweet blue of sky
Becomes a blank, bleak tapestry of fear
For those who cling with wringing hands and spring
Before your eyes, faces bare, yearning sphere
Of balled trust writ large in orbs uncomprehending;
Hold fast. Wrap one arm tight around them,
Tied to the mast, feet planted wide and grounded,
Steer true; your clear stare’s tug will not condemn
But wind you in, where once you were confounded.
One steady point, however small, reels in;
And we shall somehow end where we begin.