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Ship of Fools
On a ship of fools without direction,
Along a circuitous trajection,
Sailors from every land and nation
Drift not by chart, but hallucination,
And their lofty voices, at once speaking
A bit louder than the planks are creaking,
Floating forever on waves, so giggly,
Along a foamy blue course, so squiggly -
Or will their cruise end, as the surf goes splash,
And they laugh madly, while on rocks they crash?
Copyright ©
David Crandall
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