THE SIGN

I wake to find a scene unkind, on vessel I do stand.
Adrift at sea; lost, scared and cold; in desperate need of land.

From whence came I? What purpose here? Which course should I set sail?
My heart longs after former home, yet all my senses fail.

Rotating, searching, looking out; no means to tell the way.
And so I drift with every wind, more helpless day by day.

Shall this continue endlessly? Shall sea become despair?
A purpose there must surely be, a course to chart...but where?

Then pausing, pondering, opening up...a prompting, "Look above".
In yonder sky, a wisp of white, a sign of hope: a dove.

"Set sail", my heart cries. "Follow thence. T'wil surely guide to shore:.
Yet speed I've not. I fall behind. The sign I see no more.

But all's not lost. The way I know and if to this course I'm true.
Then home I shall be once again...my mansion built anew.

... Jeff Bresee