I sit among my rocks, waiting for the men to pass by.
The large rock by the door is scarred with my
Marks, a record of those I watched die
While my song rose to fill the sky.
I pass by that rock every day, and I see
Only how many more marks there must be
Before my time is done, and I may leave
This rocky tower for the blue blue sea
I often wonder if these men ever, ever know
As their ship is dashed on the rocks below
That I do not hate them. Nay, I love them so...
These men who come, and yet too quickly go.
For it is lonely here day after passing day
Watching my only joy slip away
Beneath the waves as I turn to lay
My hand upon that rock so I do not sway
And turn to save the drowning men that I-
With my beauty which so pleased their eye
And the voice that lured them to my side-
Have broken and condemned to die.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem