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Thursday, November 29, 2007



I've sailed this sea in temptest, storm and trial.
Some think I'm cursed, I think I'm blessed.
The way I see it, if this life is truly all there is,
I may as well lay down and molder with the rest.

But on the outside chance that all of this makes sense,
I'll trust that I am watched by He who made the stars.
That He who set the worlds to spin in space.
Knows exactly where his troubled children are.

How sweet the sound, the unseen wind in treetops
That, if it will, may bring down mighty oaks about my ears
Or yet may fill my sails and drive my tiny boat
Across the pitching, heaving sea of years

I choose to raise my sails and catch the wind.
And cling to the tiller, cloak wrapped up against the spray
Trusting that soon again will come the morning
Steering small and ever on, only stars to guide my way

by Tom King

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