038 - February 7 2024 - A Short Pledge

I take wending routes, through soft tropical seas
with the southern crane perched smartly on my left
and my little bark creaks, following the breeze
while sidereal time makes gentle my breath

whatever such troubles, left stacked on the dock
I fled from, they have drifted now from my sight
the clamour and bellows by calm waters stopped
and nothing but peace between I and the night

and well may I turn, when my wrappings come free
and my stitches are plucked, and my plans are set
and well may I strike with the best company
and well may I right things, done wrong,  but not yet!