Washed away,

Washed away,

Drowned, in reckless flight,

All hope lost.

Swept by chance,

Upon a beach, of circumstance.

Given half a yard

To gather up

The rootless flotsam,

That all too idly

Drifts on by,

Or lies upon the shore.

A gathering,

Of the jettisoned.

With little left

To furnish any rescue,

Unless with cord and rope,

You roughly craft,

A raft,

Of wood and vine.

And with this hope

You cast a line,

To feed your dream.

And find the strength,

To build belief,

That one day soon,

Will bring relief,

And transport you,

Back into,

Still and gentle,

Slowly flowing,

Life affirming,

Waters.