Springing up from fertile ground,
angel’s breath, by trouble bound
to human tears, a treasure true;
hope-grown wings on heavenly cue.
If it’s treasure you’re after,
‘X’ always marks the spot;
the places where push shoves
and rubber smears the road
and frost-feathers freeze
are inexorably painting a bull’s-eye
on your soul.
Twenty paces shy of normal,
30 leagues under tumultuous seas,
the secrets of Life’s Map
are only drawn out under duress.
So cheer, Mate!
When troubles broil
and problems are plenty,
your treasure is multiplying –