and none the wiser none the worse
the mainsail snap and cease to wave,
for naught a blessing nor a curse;
The yard may break and strand us all
a hundred leagues from nearest shore;
The mists may hide the port of call
and we may miss our chance to moor.
Endeavors come, endeavors go,
and not all ships survive the sea,
But sink or sail you surely know
you are where you are meant to be.