Lost Paddle Poem by George Samuel

My path o sailor is tempest toast
My compass coast cut
To the east sea gaze
Searching for still after the troubled waves
The waking up and sleeping of the tides
Sways the mind away from an island curse
Signals perfect rest that fails
The crowded crowd and snow oppress
But yonder o sailor in it thickest gloom I press
Against foes beneath
Wooing with wallowing to swallow
And leap unto the path unknown
For all of nature cry no
And compatriots sank at tunnel o
Strength for strength with the storm
I roll my huddling boat hence
With my mission till I'm home to calm