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Sur le Lac de Vie


Picture life an endless lake,
Mankind the vessels on it,
How's it some will leave no wake
While others fly to flaunt it?
The first, drift, nowhere to go,
Lacking both rudder and sail,
Bobbing along with the flow,
Inertia, their holy grail.
Once they are no longer seen
No wake to show where they go
Or to suggest where they've been,
Mere figments for all we know,
Passing by this place, unique,
Not a word will History speak.

Since the former are benign,
Their choices affect little,
Not so, those who won't resign
The right to our rights! Tittle,
Iota or jot surrender not,
Else you to them, fool's flotsam,
Fly the foul flag on the lot,
Every time when one spots 'em!
Tyros rush to get there first,
Leading is what life's made for!
In the front oft turns out worst,
Winning what we have paid for,
Wakes wrecking our no-wake zone.
Asking we, rudeness, condone!


Picture most sailing life's lake,
Manning their vessels on it,
Long and straight, the roiling wake,
Willful purpose undaunted.
Often caught no port in sight,
A good ship's crew stands watches,
Through the darkest, stormy night,
Shorten sail and batten hatches,
Yet, on course and undeterred
Its destination days ahead,
Sails as if a voice it heard
Wooing homeward to its bed.
Destinations and cargo
Deny Duty's embargo.


--H. Arlequin

 

 
 

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copyright 1999, The Goober Tree Press, all rights reserved