My unmoored ship needs no harbor,
What comes goes away too soon,
These days of sailing need never end,
For there is no satisfaction in placing bets
On where is joy and freedom from loss.

We shall sleep on the most bare bedding,
and make the night jealous with our indifference,
to these innocuous clouds that dampen the skies,
or the distressing call of the dark black raven,
even the most pregnant storm shall see us unperturbed.

There in the water float the islands of yesterday,
countless of those yesterdays we made ours,
were they to be all lost to the cobwebs of time,
turned into mossy green artifacts and fossils,
many new islands would by then surface.

Yes, from the water we shall take the red blood,
that once flowed in the veins of wise comrade souls,
who in pain and suffering remained steady,
and even when death struck them cold,
laughed heartily at his bloody stroke.