Far Off-Shore


Look, the raft, a signal flying,
  Thin—a shred;
None upon the lashed spars lying,
  Quick or dead.
Cries the sea-fowl, hovering over,
  "Crew, the crew?"
And the billow, reckless, rover,
  Sweeps anew!


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It ain't what you don't know that gets you into trouble. It's what you know for sure that just ain't so.