For my mind is filled with remembrance for:
four and twenty blackbirds baked and pie’d;
Pied Piper piping, gathering his corps;
Corpse of a miss ‘for a spider spied,
Spied, in the throws of the sun; tumbl’in,
Tumbling Icarus — the very one;
One boy, one dame, one lord, one black sheep kin;
Kin and king cursed with golden fingers won;
One hero with Golden Fleece in open hand;
Hands waking our John-a-late-for-matins;
Matins’ bells ringing, ringing through the land;
Land shaped, formed by Blue Ox and Bunyan’s,
Bunyan’s mighty ax taming dirt and sky;
Sky, set to call, storied list to mind’s eye .
Today lies in darkness still.
Still I hear the shadow’s call,
call with caressing voice,
a siren’s soothing voice.
So strap me to the mast.
Mark this journey down.
Round the horn.
Let the fiercest fires flare.
Stuff my calloused ears.
This ship is all I’ll ever know;
all that marks my mark,
all that sets for place unknown.
So I know, I should take
care to care. I should know how
to knot, how to tie with flare
and with surety of eye and hand,
know how to set a course
and guide by star and verse.
And yet this course is coarse.
Full of uncharted isles, isles
of cyclops, titans, and villains worse.
So I’ll fly with wings of wax,
and so soar and never lax.
And if I tumble, I’ll tumble
and be better for the course.