Anchored ships lie in port and then put out to sea
But they always return again, braving foul weather.
In six months I’ll return, but my journey will be
Ended only to start on another.

Everyone returns, but the friends you most trust,
And the dearest of women, the truest and best.
Everyone returns except those you need most.
I have no faith in fate, in myself even less.

But how good to imagine things aren’t as they seem,
That to burn all your boats will soon pass out of fashion.
I’ll be sure to return both in friends and in dreams...
Before six months are out I’ll sing again with new passion.