There was once a very small boat;

made of polished, dark mahogany

It had to keep itself forever afloat;

its habits were a strange homogony

The boat being very small and petty;

it didn’t matter in His design at all

But its fate was written in the jetty;

in a few sentences, dark and small

---

‘You are hereby destined, you old one;

ordained to sail to non-existent shores

No other options or choices are none;

all the other paths end on locked doors’

‘Read these words, for it is your fate;

eternally destined to bet on lost causes

Do take it from me and do take it straight;

there is only anguish and no applauses’

The boat surely didn’t want this fate;

but life was cursed and forever doomed

Distress was certain and was never late;

the horn of frustration forever boomed 

Still, the old boat didn’t lose hope;

and started each journey with faith

Braving the waves, no anchor or rope;

a lonesome ghost, a silent wraith

---

There were storms and hard rain;

the boat did not care and moved on

There was damage and even pain;

the boat always waited for the dawn

Sometimes it saw lights and visions;

smiling with hope, it rowed on

But those were all bitter delusions;

the visions, what its fancy had drawn

---

Sometimes, it heard joyous laughter;

with a hopeful heart, it shouted ‘ahoy!’

Trying to chase the voices, it went after;

but found only silence, no mirth, no joy

Well, that was the life of this poor boat;

the lonely boat that was doomed forever

This was all - the life of this boat;

all the same were the days, whatsoever

---

The boat is tired, its wood has all but rotten;

there are several leaks, it’s  bound to sink

The dreams of glory, all forgotten;

the end is near, it has reached the brink

But the boat rows on, for it has a purpose;

it’s destined to live on, it’s meant to serve

The heart is tired, exhausting is the circus;

no time to lay anchor, no sense to lose nerve