Come Young Pirates, Storms Of Chance Tethered To Each Sail (45) Poem by Captain Cur

Circling beneath the southern island sky
eagles pine glaring from their highland home,
between the coves the whooshing ocean sighs
in wandering lust, ever doomed to roam.
Time, ever present, in momentous flight
from the dueling poles, charts its onward course,
drifting through the past ancient legends shine
scattering where the winds of time may blow.

Dácil awakes on life's uncertain main
with the storms of chance tethered to each sail,
though bravest hearts may strive and fight in vain
when ropes are taunt the strongest winds sustain.
Her life swept by the island's monstrous gale
on which fortunes are suddenly exchanged;
or thankless courts, or one-time friends estranged,
or loving eyes that meet an infant's smile,
or pagan rites that mark each island child.