We've heard the sorrows
And the sufferings of men:
who venture far in their wood boats
which break on little things like
rocks, and time, and promises,
How beautiful they are!
Their bodies taut at oars,
on the rigging, nimble-footed
their eyes shining in the salt sun
How beautiful, with outstretched hands,
delicate-fingered, strong-grasping,
oh, beautiful,
even to us
they sing!
Our sister, giggling, dove below
to kiss them
but, she said, her voice was only bubbles
and she could not find them in the dark.
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