On Sunday, July 19, 2015 at 12:30:10 PM UTC-4, Michael Pendragon wrote:
> VOYAGER
>
> The old man walked along the summer shore
> And wondered when his youth had set its sail
> For foreign ports beyond the sunset's rim,
> Why winter hopes had long abandoned him
> Pulled up the gangway, barred the fo'c'sle door
> Dissolved like foam from last year's harvest ale.
> He grieved for lovers lost before a glance
> Had passed between them like a wanton's sigh
> And mourned for those who'd touch a nameless grave
> Where life had broken like a reckless wave
> That crashes headlong on the sand, where chance
> Is fickle as a dreamer's cloudy sky.
> But time rolls out to sea like parting words
> And golden locks grow grey as trodden sand
> And old men stare across the ageless brine
> Hoping to catch some glint of God's design
> In billowed sail or arc of seaborne birds,
> Like tealeaf clusters, etchings on the hand
> Or shadow patterns in a gall of glass.
> He blinks, the little play draws to its close
> A lonely sailboat glides into the night
> And when the abalone moon takes flight
> She only sees a flock of heron pass
> In search of harbors only heaven knows.

Reminds me of a quote I read in a comic book once:
“The untold want, by life and land ne’er granted,
Now, Voyager, sail thou forth, to seek and find.”

I think it was by Whit Whiteman or somebody.