I would sooner live one life
And live it well
Than try my hand at every art.

I would rather choose a port
Than chase the sun
And find that when the storm should start

No direction can I choose
And strung between
I am caught portless in the surge;

Free to fly and free to fall,
Loyal to none,
And driven down by aimless urge.

I can’t hold the world’s forests
With these small hands
But what I have I will hold fast.

I will grow just these, my trees,
With love and care;
A coppice small but staked to last.

Love’s in the eye of the beholder.
I will not look over your shoulder.