The sailor dies like a misty reef.
Promise, faith, and then desolation.
Neither heed the wise, who say
Never to love a wave.
For waves are lovely, but
Can only destroy what other is so.
Beauty appears in the beholder's eye,
Until, when that which the eye is fond of
Pierces the doter, ration
Can only determine the outcome
Of such a dulled admirer.
That passion, which is hindered
By some bemusing lover, or
Depravingly inflicted wound,
Slips into a watery grave.
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