Mayim

I stand before a gulf and seek the shore
Opposing me: alas I have no ship;
My swimming, too, is bordering on poor
Sadly from below; I fear the trip
May spell the death of me. Yet on I go
Into the wide cold bay that bars my way,
Into the breakers, smashing to and fro,
Into the misty darkness of its spray.
The destination far exceeds the cost:
To reach the farther shore I would breathe water.
And when you tell my love that I am lost
Tell her to the death I ever sought her.
Yet it may be our love will raise its hand
And part the sea, so I cross on dry land.