So soon our tiny craft is launched
Upon the river's teeming flood,
To toss and twist as wills the stream,
While those who launched us drift away
Or disappear in eddied swells,
And leave us without motive force
To sail upstream, reversing course,
Yet strength to dock at ports of call.
And so we stop at many ports -
Some ports of learning, ports of work,
And ports of friendship, ports of love,
And ports of help, of parenthood.
But many ports along the way
We pass, aware we can't return.
So long the trip, so slow the stream,
So many ports unvisited.
And, in the end, so much alone,
Until, at last, we reach the sea -
Beyond the delta's farthest sands
And float the limitless unknown