It matters not that winds fall off or fail

for a spell. The slacking sails luff, we slow;

one tacks to catch the smallest breath that blows;

the stars a steady guide in calm or gale.

We have come well thus far, despite the change

of climate and rising constellations

in the heavens, (the hope of destination).

Our skill is adequate, our task not strange.

Patience, the spirit stills, will see us home.

Leave violence for the sea, whimsy for the wind,

Let praise clear sight and remedy the sinned

then straight our journey, straight our wake of foam.

Hold up your sextant to the fixed north star

We have come a ways, the sea ahead is far.