When Picard was young, on Martinique
Tramp freighters swam by: rusty swans
He longed to command: to stand,
Boy on the bridge, in turquoise wind.

Strange angels heard that inner prayer:
Time-bound swimmers of dimensional air
Who chartered him a greater ship
Than boy ever dreamed.

But his star-voyages were just
the keystone in the arc.
A sixty-year climb to that ship;
As adult dreams ripen, sixty more.

Legs wilted, in a gravity chair,
Jean-Luc Picard still smiles:
A sage with feral eyes.

He lived long and prospered,
For the trumpet couldn't call.

Picard had to climb
That long arch of time:
For the boy wished so much,
And angels must grant all.