Grey skies hover as a homage to indirect mysteries.
The ripples covet the wood they caress.
Side by side, the ships wait.
Only the winds brood and sway across their bows.
The rains swept their decks of yesterdays journeys.
Idle and silent they stand against the thrashing of the high seas.
They wait out the tides of uncertainty,
On the horizon is the calling lands.
Wayward in the subtle dream, the immortal compass is vivid;
Side by side the ships shall anchor, until the storms have passed.