When the Wind awakened
And moved across the still face of the water,
A tiny Wave was born, not much more than a ripple.
The Wind pushed down harder upon the Sea,
Rolling the water before her, bunching it up,
And the ripple became a Wave in full.
And it grew until its head curled mightily upward,
Rolling onward, surging with great strength forward,
Rising higher and higher.
And now the Wave could see a great distance,
And he shuddered in fear when he saw
Those ahead of him, ceaselessly, one after the other,
Crashing onto the sand
And dying with great, pitiful roaring.
So the Wave cried to the Wind, begging her to be still,
But she would not.
And so he asked her, “Why are you doing this?”
The Wind asked, “What is it you think I do?”
“You are pushing me to my death!” the Wave exclaimed.
“And if I stop pushing?”
“The sea will receive me back into itself,” said the Wave.
“And if I keep pushing?” the Wind asked.
“I will crash—“ and the Wave paused,
“And the Sea will receive me back into itself,”
And the Wave,
Water before he was born,
And water evermore,
Laughed a great roar, and rolled mightily onward.