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