The Caravel

Time is an illusion. With one stroke of a brush or pen time can be reversed and dreams and journeys renewed.

Built I a silver ship with one brush stroke
A caravel of olden tales well told
Her keel of hardened iron and burnished oak
Her parchment sails embossed with gleaming gold
At anchor on the lake she calmly rests
Adventure standing quiet by her side
The darkened starlit sky holds many tests
And sailed we on the swiftly running tide
The stars laid out for us a southern course
With dark red Betelgeuse to steer upon
We crossed the glittered snows of the fierce Norse
And to the golden land of Prester John
Where shining in the still and darkened night
The palaces of marbled polished stone
Shown with a ghostly mist of golden light
As if the time and world were theirs alone
Across the deep black sea we quickly sailed
Edirne, Ottoman, Sultan Mehmet
Constantinople, free, as yet unquailed
Yet in the dawn a shadowed minaret
The rising of the sun saw us near home
Below us tiny ships set sail from Tyre
Unknowing that one sorrowed day would Rome
Extinguish them with blood stained sword and fire
Sweet morning light crept softly through my room
And lilting birdsong lifted me awake
The caravel now tied up to the boom
At rest upon the placid silver lake

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