Oft I must strive with wind and wave, Battle them both when under the sea
I feel out the bottom, a foreign land. In lying still I am strong in the strife;
If I fail in that they are stronger than I, And wrenching me loose, soon put me to rout.
They wish to capture what I must keep. I can master them both if my grip holds out,
If the rocks bring succor and lend support, Strength in the struggle. Ask me my name!

In former days my father and mother, Abandoned me dead, lacking breath
Or life or being. Then one began, A kinswoman kind, to care for and love me;
Covered me with her clothing, wrapped me in her raiment, With the same affection she felt for her own;
Until by the law of my life's shaping, Under alien bosom I quickened with breath.
My foster mother fed me thereafter, Until I grew sturdy and strengthened for flight.
Then of her dear ones, of daughters and sons, She had the fewer for what she did.

It's been around for millions of years, but it's no more than a month old. What is it?