The Breeze

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.

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