"TOAST
Nothing, a foam, virgin verse
only to indicate the cup;
so into the deep dives a flock
of sirens, some overturned.
We sail, O my diverse
friends, I already on the stern
you on the sumptuous prow that cleaves
the flood of lightning and winters;
a beautiful drunkenness drives me
nor do I fear its pitching
standing to make this toast
solitude, star, reef
to all that was worth
the white toil of our sail."
Created by d'Araprì