As we embark on this journey Not knowing the final port, Nor the conditions of the seas, Whether they will be charitable to us or not, Nor knowing, if we must confront an iceberg,
You slipped, darling. But young arms kindly returned you, terrified. I grip your hand to steady you, shaking. We return to our familiar steps, slower still.
Sometimes the world seems monochrome, like an endless corridor of televisions untuned, as though someone pulled the plug and drained away all colour. Then, in moments like these,
Bleary-eyed and dazed I stumble into daylight, not to be embraced by some bosomy blonde, nor to rapturous applause of naive natives grateful for the return of historic treasures.