poem

      tis the set of the sail

but to every mind there oponeth, 
a way, and a way, and away.
a high soul clibs the highway,
and in between on the misty fiats,
the rest drift to and fro.

but to ever man there oponeth,
a high way and a low,
and every mind decideth,
the way his soul shall go.

one ship sails east,
and another West,
by the self- same winds that blow,
tis the set of the sails
and not the gales,
that tells the way we go.

like the winds of the sea 
are the waves of time,
as we journey along through life,
tis the set of the soul,
that determines the goal.
and not the calm or the strife.