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Tired timbers creak

Like ancient bones

Beneath my feet

Salt-soaked and swollen

Old man’s eyes

Watching the swell

The rise and fall

Of shark-toothed waves

Which crash against

The fragile vessel

Which holds our hopes

And carries us ever on

Our endless search

The girdle around the Earth

Which we traverse

Our fears masked

By necessity and emptiness

Searching for the wake

The blowhole spray

Which lends us hope

Of our return to shore.

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