Horse Latitudes - The Doors

When the still sea conspires an armor

And her sullen and aborted currents

Breed tiny monsters

True sailing is dead!

Awkward instant

And the first animal is jettisoned

Legs furiously pumping

Their stiff green gallop

And heads bob up

Poise

Delicate

Pause

Consent

In mute nostril agony

Carefully refined

And sealed over