If tears should fall upon an open wound,
And mix with all the claret thereabouts,
Do we, in ships of sand, become marooned
In hearts that suffer cruel and bloodless droughts?
And are we blinded by the sun that seeks
An eye already dry and vulnerable?
If ships are sunk by hulls that always leak
Then passion's seas are hopeless, cold and cruel.
We all attack the waves with witless glee -
Our flags begin the journey flying proud -
But shrivelled hearts and eyes mean misery:
We cannot see the sunshine through the clouds.
If we should set our course and leave the shore,
Then bloodless hearts will beat forever more.