Where rivers meet,
In valleys deep,
In hands, in sorrows,
Each with his own take
On scraping rocks
And hostile land,
A strengthening, a mighty merge
To cast away, to formidably fall
And to finally be
We can stumble in mists of doubt,
Like rowing boats on the deep blue sea.
But we always know that there are islands somewhere,
Where pinks grow and seabirds guard their nests.
How can we then really ever be lost?