They say he stood upon the shore
And wept into the sea
For fear he’d conquered all the world
At only thirty-three.
Yet had he known untrammeled soil
Lay just beyond his hand,
He would have wept a flood to think
He’d never see that land.
Though we may weep at gaining all
With nothing left behind,
More often still, our tears are shed
For worlds we’ll never find.
Jane Jacques
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