Sitting pretty on the dock,
Anchor awaits for no man
Highlights of the wind,
Creating waves on fan.
My love,
What is your purpose here,
Forthwith to keep me safe through the tempest
No ship that hath not seen the gale and gust
will be counted as worth of fame
So as far as it depends upon me,
to weather the storm,
and sink anchor after the tempest is conquered
beaten and battered,
without a whisper,
But a thud, safety