Your the one who fills my sails, driving us across the seas.
The trip is sometimes stormy and often choppy; on the rocks, once or twice.
But, when your gone, I lay becalmed,not washed by passion’s raging tempest, nor riding life’s foaming, turbulent crest.
I drift the placid channel, following the current, prey to barnacle, bird, and fate.
So, I’ll take the chance and gather your breeze as it builds into a force to shape our world.
For I’d rather ride your raging tempest than read the shore long before I reach it


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