The Tales of Pericles

The sand around me coarse and dry,

On the root of this gnarled tree,

Branches stretch above on high,

Green-leaf petals shading me,

Breathing in the lake,

But I smell the sea,

At the last of daybreak,

Where I've come to be,

While here I sit,

Under sandy trees,

In every grain of grit,

I see tales old as Pericles,

In each a tale as yet untold,

Those than can still the breeze,

At the end of each that does unfold,

Does not count only victories,

Tales of passion - loss - retreat,

not each can end with balanced ease,

Let your failures forge you bold as brass,

So long as you take lessons from these.