It is so unforgiving this
 Fog in which we travel steadily
  Following the bow in and out
   Of swirling vapor drapes, warily
    Groping through the harbor
     Like a blind bat weaving recklessly
      In flight zigging zagging
       Flying without echoes readily
        To guide it on its course our
         Senses overruled by compass verity
          ! Our mooring dead ahead.