A form of tumble
The start and port are in your heart.
The voyage into fantasy,
The cargo is the player's part
The captain sails for ecstasy.
The ship carries a wanting soul
And empty holes to fill its sail.
Or just perhaps some beggars bowl
Of empty passions and travail?
A phantom's ship, a phantom's sea,
Loads of wishes and desire.
A phantom's cargo bonhomie,
A hole to fill with aspires.
Some journeys span, a journey to be,
The cargo is the dreamer's art.
The captain's soul the appointee,
And home and port are in your heart.
Be it ever so humble,
I love a subtle tumble.