There are times the sea is sullen rage,

There are times the sea is sullen rage,
And all the wind can carry is despair.
The morning barely brightens the dark air,
And life is what no comfort can assuage.
There is pain too pure for any sage,
When breath is what precisely is not fair,
And hope seems hopelessly beyond repair,
Unlikely to recover much with age.
Ah, then, sweet child, know that you are loved
Simply for the glory of your being,
Regardless what you think or say or do!
This is a gift that cannot be removed,
A passion for a passion beyond seeing
That waits within the darkness just for you.