Midnight on a Row.

It's an ocean we're in,
though it seems that of a lake,
I beat against each wave, hoping.
Tied the anchor, though it rusted.
Met each rope, following a persistent knot.

But I kept it,
at each passing tide
to prove a point.
Couldn't put it to proper use,
after I cut it all up.

I could've grazed shore lines,
pressing my oar at the sides of rocks
keeping them,
on their toes,
so it goes.

The battle we swung on,
headfirst and sung it down.
I made it for you to keep.