I drifted alone on the open sea,

Far, far away from where I should be.

No land in sight, no course to steer—

I had lost my oars; I was stranded here.

No clever idea of how to survive,

No way of knowing if I'd come out alive.

How could I cross this endless expanse?

It would take a miracle, a stroke of chance.

Then a sailor appeared, adrift like me,

Barely afloat on the restless sea.

He clung to two paddles, battered and thin,

But no boat to row, no hope within.

We shared a glance, a frown, a sigh—

An unspoken bond as the waves rolled by.

In the depths of despair of the circumstance,

We knew that neither stood much of a chance.

So the sailor turned and swam on his way.

Sometimes, it just isn't your lucky day.