Prone to maneuver by the wake
I pondered trouble every day.
Misshapen dreams to change the past
To right the wrongs–to live at last.
But wrongs don’t right so eyes upcast
And shoulders back, hands on the wheel.
Turbulence tests the captain’s skill
And wild winds whip sordid wisps
in eyes dulled by pain and strife.
So I think of love and He’ll come again
And kiss my brow and hold my hand.
And more and more does my skill grow
As I steer my ship from downward tow.