Unfinished

Found this half-finished shanty in a notebook from a while back. I hope it serves you in some way. Maybe a Godchild’s battle cry?

The black waves below, they ebb and they flow

Sinking and rising, with white-silver waves

And swirling in time with seafarer’s rhyme

Calling mourn’flly through passages of countless days

Now I heard a tale of a mother at sea

In great brewing storm birth’d a child

The waves tried as they might, but she dared cling so tight

Her knuckles were white, beast’s eyes wild

And the waves said to she, “if your lad’s strong as ye,

A great warrior he shall become!”

But the mother just laughed, and she beckoned the storm

The twain danced on the ship ‘till the tempest was done…

The twain danced on the ship ‘till the tempest was done