If I stack my failures one by one,
too numerous to count;
Scale the heights and depths of all I've done,
and stand upon that mount;
Will my cries for mercy from its peak
ascend above the clouds?
Or shall lips that part to dare but speak
condemn me with the proud?
There are Winds that blow through mortal souls,
which scarce a man can bear;
And the way they go, it's said, controls
the state of his affairs.
Thus I'll steel myself against the cold
as Their gelid Fingers pierce so bold
my secrets veiled within;
With my feet held firm on rocky ground
I'll make my final plea:
"May these Winds take me to where I'm bound:
toward heaven, or to sea.
"If the heavens greet me as a friend,
a rainbow I shall see;
By this sign I'll know of whither end
these damaged goods shall be."
Here atop this craggy hill of shame,
beneath their shrilly whine,
The Winds of Fate whisper a name;
'Twas yours! (or was it mine?)
Whether high or low, or in between
on fateful winds I blow,
If my end be set or unforeseen
'tis soon that I will know.
So I stand here 'pon my life estate
and gaze up to the sky;
As a vane to gauge the Winds of Fate
for which way I shall fly.