The Ocean Of Hope Poem by Oleg Vorobyov

Good Hope's just around the cliff.
We, oarsmen, cannot see beyond,
Yet, with our hearts anticipate
What imminent good's round the turn!

Being ridden, beaten by the main,
Mauled, crushed and wrenched by elements,
We, oarsmen, fortitude maintained,
Ply, fling ourselves against all odds!

Our muscles weakened yet made strong
By dire strain at breaking points;
Our thoughts are whetstoned by the goal,
A goal fed by the fire of Hope!

The vortex of the yawning blue
Now is impotent in its rage!
The Hoary Ocean is our balloon:
Upholding Hope's wavy pledge!