a short poem on a friday mornin'

Not trust you, dear? Nay, ’t is not true.
As sailors trust the shifting sea
From day to day, so I trust you.
They know how smooth the sea can be;
And well they know its treachery
When tempests blow; yet forth they thrust
Their ships, as in security.
They trust it, dear, because they must.

hannah parker kimball, one way of trusting