Here’s an allegory for you to think about:
Time is a customhouse, the sea is life.
I don’t pretend it’s mine. I’m just the scribe, the scout,
looking for objects to comfort you through your strife.
And the ship? Well, that’s much harder to say.
For centuries it was God – then, later, the mind.
For me it’s the tale itself that fills up the day
as we work to make our way through the brine.
What floats to the surface is invariably strange.
You too can join us when it pleases you to sail.
Just don’t forget to bring along some change.
You can throw in whatever you want – rubies, scales,
Easter baskets loaded with chocolates and candies.
But time will deal with them as it fancies,
levying unfixed duties on even your tales.