The Perfect Storm

THE PERFECT STORM He rode her with a passion, his tiller held high He commanded her, but; never once did own Calmed her ardent waters passion as subside With ferocity, allowed her to share his throne He commanded her, but; never once did own Forced within her; his very own perfect storm With ferocity, allowed her to share his throne By willingness and acceptance she transforms Forced within her; his very own perfect storm Waves ridden, until nothing but; waning ebbs By willingness and acceptance she transforms As into calmer waters, her riled passion heads Waves ridden, until nothing but; waning ebbs Steered by the tiller-man; in his direction lead As into calmer waters, her riled passion heads He has all but now; put this wild storm to bed Steered by the tiller-man; in his direction lead He was never, going to be browbeaten by she He has all but now; put this wild storm to bed Never fearing; his mission, in claiming this sea He was never, going to be browbeaten by she Calmed her ardent waters, passion as subside Never fearing; his mission, in claiming this sea He rode her, with a passion, his tiller held high Indiana Shaw . . . -_-