Setting sail on the sea of poetry
I don't know where it will take me.
There may be rough seas ahead
Or I might find a sunny little cove.
But whatever, I am sailing in the bosom of the deep blue sea.
It is beyond my understanding,
Doesn't respond to my pleas or entreaties,
Like a God it is sui generis, impossible not to worship.
And whatever I worship, I become.
I become the pitiless storm tearing ships apart.
I carry the British around the bottom of the Earth
On the Westerly Trade Winds, racing over the rollers, all the way to Hobart Town.
And then I hold in my hands Australia Felix
Girt by sea.
Riding the waves on my surfboard
I become Poseidon, God of the Sea.