Quos Deus Vult Perdere, Prius Dementat
Penetrate, then deviate
In quest to circumnavigate
From pole to pole, and back again
The soulless void of man's chagrin
No peace of mind, just endless days
Forever searching Troytown maze
No man can e'er acclimatise
Beneath these ever shifting skies
Weep like willow, shed the tears
To fill this ocean, year by year
No longitude, no night lit stars
No latitudes to warm the scars
No atlas here of lands immense
No turning back, no recompense
"Varium et mutabile
semper femina", I feel
© Chris Bond — 17 July 2000