I am a wave that beats against a rock:

I shift my shape but stone remains unchanged;

I turn to foam and run from it, ashamed

 

I am a gust of wind that runs into a face,

A withered face that’s seen the worst of storms,

And as I touch its scars, I lose my strength, ashamed

 

I am the wish that I cannot fulfil

I am the chance I never took with me,

Ashamed to be and, thus, bound not to be