The purer the gold becomes, the more glaring the remaining impurities become.

The old medicine, (though a plague in itself) when gone,

reveals a new host of pains.

That dock has been burned, quite thoroughly too

But how scared I would be, I couldn't have knew

Though old, weakened, rotten, and not worth a dime

It still offered a measure of security.

This ocean is much too big for a little boat like me

Far too much for a weak heart to see.

I want to savor this beauty, and to do so takes time

But before that time comes, a new beauty arrives

A new thought on my mind, the first still on my lips

Drinking from the fire hose

When all I can take is a sip.

Patience, perseverance, endurance, and hope.

I need a very heavy anchor, with a very long rope.