New to the sea, I knew about the wind;
I wanted to turn the shoulders.
‘Fraid of the wind, I sure was then,
Now it’s breeze, and I’m the boulder.
A new sailor, for whom the wind was new,
Called not wind, but storm too.
From that sailor, I became the next.
Steel hard now, reckon I do it again?
Walked through the storm, I fell.
Fell again, but not that well.
I bled once, twice, then thrice,
Now it’s memory, then not nice.