Soft winds  
do turn
the tides of day;
our sanctuary
the ocean
keeps harm at bay.

Some larks
enclose
the merry groves of may
and pluck at
its fruits,
the seeds of next generation’s joy.

Strange feats
accomplished
by those with idle days,
passed down
to form
the wisdom of Earth’s race.

Ten thousand
new souls
enter each day;
make nice
the world
for their lengthy stay.