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Is Everyman an Iceberg

[For proper effect, read aloud]
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An a score an three years Ile be a soule sailor,
A soule journeying thee windswept sea;
A score an three years blasted battered borne,
'Sailed by eternities winds.

Ile met many an isle, each with its own taile;
Each has watched the daily chariot race;
Again again an again ending, to begin again:
For what, a gain?

Each isles craggy cliff or shingled shore
Is a soule inimitable postcard: it tales its tale
Of that windswept waterswept journey.
An each mans an islan, for poor or for worse...

Nights Ile count thee dimonds, as they were once thought.
Just out of mans grasp.
Men made me tools to measure them
That, by themmen, I might find my, find my way home.

And nights Ile wish't the through thronged thought:
Let not Helios begin again,
O why do you wish it?
Sails furled, brow frowed: a spect acle journey.

But a score an three years hastening
It took me to learn the cool look
Of that evernovel face.
Always known it, felt it, but never able to speak it:

An Ice berg's tip is just the tip,
An beyond that spect able visage, yes,
Bearied below the surface of the deep,
Baring, bearing, bearing, baring,
Lies its un discoverable un knowable mass.

An as Ile sail my corse with its ephemeral wake--
Once sterncut, now awash, I'll wonder:
Is Everyman an Iceberg