Truth is both masts are broken now,
Shattered by the fury of the volley.
Adrift with no provisions, no water,
And no hope of happy shore.
Ah, that this wretched, cursed ship
Would sink to the deepest depths,
And in the abyss find at last quietus.
Her arms’ embrace are my masts,
Her eyes the wind upon my sails,
Her body my provisions and my water.
In her I have found hope.
Hope for happy shore,
And a child I would rest
With love within her womb.
She goes now, and I have no more
Power to keep her than to fix
These crushed and splintered masts.
Oh, that she would consider:
The love she holds for me.
That love should never be compromised.
Oh, that she would answer:
That if she loves me so much she
Quakes at the thought of me
In the arms of another,
As I do of her with another,
And I complete her strength
To face each passing day,
As she completes each day for me,
Is this ship not worth saving?
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem