Of Guanche women; it was said,
adorned in jewels, fruits and palms;
'quite irresistible to their men.'
Known as a hardy race,
inhabiting an emerald isle;
friendly, inquisitive, but somewhat coy
graced with that native smile.
Hair ablaze in the golden sun
and they walked with a prideful gait,
skin alive with a bronze tinged glow
with a subtle shyness to their face.
Mannered, crafty, lithe, and strong
and knew their way upon the sea,
the Canary Islands their pure joy
and they spoke to the Drago trees.
And there was one that stood above,
a daughter of a mighty King;
on Tenerife Island her story told
of the love that a Princess brings.
Eyes as green as a sunned palm leave;
dressed in gowns of traded silk,
bright yellow hair that teased the air,
breast fed by queenly milk.
The island kissed those precious lips
where pinkish flowers grew,
from the lees and high in the trees
the grand canaries flew.
Long of limb with a soft lined chin,
a smile that lit the sky,
she bathed in dreams of silver streams
and all that touched her eye.
Galleons beached from the North and East
in the bluest island bays
assured the winds would blow and spin
and help them on their way.
The wooden masts were strongly lashed
and sails blew violently;
strong hulls that poked through tiers of oak
sat high upon the sea.
Steady winds play songs, sweet and long,
that sound inside the sails,
when heavy ships rode fast and quick
to the music of the gales.
On wooden decks bare feet would trek
wrestling the slightest breeze;
but, the fair sight, of gulls in flight
would set them at their ease.
Captains know when the sun's aglow
and the sea calm and smooth
that they must train for storm and pain
to keep a tight knit crew.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem