Rain flogs my face and collar-bones,
a thunderstorm roars over musts.
You thrust upon my flesh and soul,
like tempests upon ships do thrust.
I do not want, at all, to know,
what will befall to me the next -
would I be smashed against my woe,
or thrown into happiness.
In awe and gaiety elated,
like a ship, that's going tempests through,
I am not sorry that I've met you,
and not afraid to love you, too.