Though I am yet to be born
my bed is made,
not one of cloth
but one of the sea.
My seed will flourish and taste of its salt water
for it is this that spawned life.
I shall grow and prosper
safe within my hardened shell
in the shallow waters of Arcachon Bay.
There I shall wait until taken by a fisherman
leaving behind only old anchored roots,
never to return.
For this was my life,
my sea,
my destiny.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem