Typhoon

The night is dark and shows no sign of sun
The hour grows late when it should have appeared;
The day is ended ere it was begun,
Leaving uncertain how we should have steered
By unseen stars under a covered moon
In absence of the orienting gleam
Of east or western sunlight. A typhoon
Blows hard against what was the eastern beam
When last we knew - but how can we discern
Direction in the endless, wasting dark?
No light will show, although our fires burn,
There is no compass for our sodden bark.
Our lives are ships at anchor in such weather
In a stiff breeze, with an uncertain tether.