To the boats that have yet to sail and dock, to lines and meters and hands on a clock, to color that's caught on the artist's smock, to childhood memories and building blocks. Here's to the rain that pebbles your face, to the circus and clowns and lions in cage, to the hero, his journey, and a damsel to save, to dreams that are seen on the crest of a wave. A salute to the trees and the air and the ground, to the violin strings and their doleful sound. Drink to the sphere and it's on-going round-- This one's for the lost who will someday be Found.