Rain fall and tides high and
wind blows leaf and hair
I sit. Through whip and wave
I only hope to bend.
As strands pull and prod,
A drive to act hardly fair
I sit and hold and weave
these strands back through.
Though nought to taut I sew
else bends will tear and throw
and gone to the rain and waves
and wind I go.
For a bond formed of glue and cling
holds as well as anything until,
a shear is pressed upon thee.
And a bond of knot and cord and sew
though loose compared to glue prior
bends and pulls and prods and holds
forever.