Storms came and went,
and still, her tethered prow remained.
Her cleats held strong; her moorings, strained.

Each mighty squall did push and pull,
while heaving brew helped fight her duel.
Hull; scraped and battered ‘gainst the dock.
Screaming gulls did jeer and mock
her ‘wingless’ mast, so tightly bound…

Keeled and hurled, as current’s pound;
Spirit wrests her stern in haste
Every thrust must be embraced,
no single gust must go to waste.
Thus, building pressure on her lines;
frayed, and aged by ocean’s brine.

Urged by raucous jeering forms’,
taunting tones amid the storms;
she hopes that ‘this’ will be the blast…

to break her hawsers free at last,
Unbind her ‘wings’ that she might fly
across the sea, beyond the sky…
With joyous sigh,

she’ll dance aloft the molten mounds,
where silent chills are filled with sounds
of Titan’s voices as they speak,
reverberating cross the peaks
until they reach contentment’s thrum  …yes!
Spirit dreams... her time will come.