O Vagabond, of fate’s perforce,
On crooked wood, upon your course,
Daredevil of a sea gull ~
How long hast thou been standing there,
To bob on your distorted chair?
Are you, as I, remorseful?
It carries thee from wave to wave;
I quander, is your mount so knave,
To overturn and dunk you?
So trusting thou must have to be ~
To poise atop a churning sea;
‘Tis not a thing that I’d do.