rhyme of an ancient mariner* (audio 1:51)

Avast, me boys! the trumpets sound
The message quiet, yet profound

If all who wander are not lost
And life’s a sea, a tempest tossed
Then who doth feign to know of truth
To stand above, aloft, aloof?
And which may summon forth frail glory?
To whose voice falls the ancient story?

I cannot but ask this query meek
For what do you quest and who do you seek?
There’s much of you that refuses to unfold
It lies inside as unmined gold
Would thou dare ponder; pray, contemplate
What rests beyond yon twisted gate?

Which notions give you puzzle gaily
Of all life’s riddles, which plague you daily?
Does wonderment ooze from thoughts mundane?
The bread, the mead, the loss, the gain?

Or have you trod on richer loam
Tromped peated bogs in search of home?
The heather calls your one true name,
Refocus your gaze – naught is ever the same

Avast, me boys! We’ve sighted land!
Unshroud your hearts, unbind your hands.

*with a humble nod to Samuel Taylor Coleridge

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