Scream! Silence. Mother weep,

The little sailor’s gone forever.

Water. Fury. Drowning. Deep.

The seaman’s essence, lost. A Siren.

The cradle of waves, his home, now feels empty

Every shape seems grotesque, compared to her  form.

A man may die, but his soul keeps on existing

As a thrall to her magic, to her smile, so inviting and warm.

Her body is perfect, her beauty transcendent,

Swept up by her eyes his mind is tormented

And  more than all sinners in all the nine hells,

This man of the sea is fevered, demented.

Even the mightiest deities are jealous

Of her fine silken hair and lips like wild cherries.

Every being, from heaven and earth

Is her most loyal subject, the queen of the Fairies.

How can the Satyr ever hope to caress

Skin made of stardust, blessed by Erato?

How can the son of a monkey strive to embrace

A being more suited to be one of the Graces?

Gods! Why did you make this woman?

Why give her such divinity?

All your storms, all your thunder, all your lightning,

Are nothing, nothing compared to her femininity!