What is it that drives a man to sea?
What is her allure that he can not remain
land locked upon the shore?
Whenever the wind is up he must set forth.

What is it about the wind
that he'll stand before the gale and smile?
What is the power that he feels,
when tiller and sheet are in his hands?

As he hauls in the sail hand to teeth,
hand to teeth, till the booms a midship.
Tightens the jib behind the mainsail,
forcing the wind to jet across the back of his sail.

As the wind heels over the boat,
he leans out over the waves.
Standing on the rail
letting the force of the wind lift his hull from the water.

As she slips the bonds that hold her back
the boat begins to fly across the water.
One hull, one rudder, slicing the waters surface
the other slicing only the frictionless breeze.

The terror, the exhileration, the wind.
There is nothing to compare with this feeling.
As a sailor ropes the wind to his bidding,
and wind gives him the ride of his life.

And so it is with my love.
For I see the stormy skies ahead
as the winds of change blow forth.
The world says the winds have turned on you son.

But I stand before the gale
With the broadest of smiles.
Knowing full well that I might capsize and drown
yet I make ready every day to sail!

And though the wind is strong in my face
and I can not sail directly toward her,
I'll patiently tack my way up wind
never losing sight of the mark.

Once I round the mark,
I'll haul in the boom and stand upon the rail,
letting wind and wave carry me with lightning speed,
ever faster ever farther, ever freer.

She is the wind that drives me,
and while she has left my sails
she still rushes across the waters
filling another sailor's canvas.

But the wind is can be tricky
and often are the times I've been caught unawares.
But a wiser sailor I am for all twists and turns I've sailed.
and I've watched the other sailors as well, who were blown over.

And when the wind returns
as it seems to in its own time,
my boat will be ready
with sails trimmed and off cast lines.

Until then I stand upon the my decks
eyes ever skyward watching, waiting,
studying her every breath, for I will ride the wind again,
And call her mine, though she may belong to no man.