To be a small boat putting by
Through inner harbor’s gait,
Would be like worker bees ashore
Minding to the hive.
And when nighttime should come at last
Finding a dock to rest,
One could only hope to find
Night life to pass the time.
For if my lonely soul could cry,
A sputtering on I would go,
To and fro, back and forth
A small boat amidst the sea.