Someplace of haven, amidst the seven seas
Where waves swept against the coral reefs
Hid a man of doubts, not a man of ease,
Waiting for days like eons for his masterpiece.
He swore on the clouds of the clear skies
And the saffron fire lit by the fire flies
That just like John Milton met his paradise,
He would do so, else hide forever and demise.
With nature, as dumb witness, to see and know
He made his crafts through sun and snow.
He faltered and dented all in a row
And wept as his weakness began to show.
The waves said there aint always a high tide
And yet they never stop to miss a ride.
The clouds said they don’t always make a rain
And yet they rove around without a pain.
The face of nature borne a truth, well written,
That the folly of man was soon well smitten.
He cherished all his dents with inner peace,
Only to transform his every work, a masterpiece…
