The tide rose to my nose before it fell,
Its inflow deepening the depths of fear
As I just tried to breathe. I was unwell,

Convinced I could not swim, that ev’ry tear
Was trouble self-inflicted due to sin.
The God of grace appeared to be austere,

Unwilling to relent. I had grown thin
Through waiting in the waves, and still I stayed
Till I had grown accustomed to my chin

Residing at the waterline. But aid
Was not far off. A voice called out, “Hold tight!”
‘Fore teaching me to see and swim. I prayed

And noticed water shallowing as light
Broke over all the breaking water’s pall
And in a moment brought an end to night.

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Photo by Tim Marshall on Unsplash