Peter's namesake, skittering
Across the restless sea,
                                 or flittering
Through troughs of dark uncertainty.

Wheeling now, it hugs a wall
Of water, hangs on air,
                                 and lightly falls
To touch an unseen something there.

Too late, too late, when trapped in mist,
It turns: the path has gone.
                                 The waves insist
The only way to go...is on.



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