The storm whips waves into a froth,
leaves deep troughs in between.
The sky is covered by a cloth
of clouds, wild to be seen.
When half an hour or so before
the sea was calm and flat
you would have doubted such a war
could break out just like that.
No matter what the water weighs
it’s tossed and turned and hit.
It moves up like a horse that brays
its roaring pains with spit.
In storms like these with iron hands
you steer your ship with care,
keep it on course that it withstands,
and wind and waves can bear.
