By Elisa Tau
Once I travelled in a cockleshell that carried me across a lake,
Where the wind would make the water move, and made the sunrays break.
But when we reached its centre, the wind died down and sun had hid away,
And my little boat was stranded, and made me easy prey.
Thus the adventure starts; from the depths appeared an opened maw,
But the teeth I did not see, for it was a freckle-faced, marine-eyed fiend,
Whose restrained tongue and kind demeanour made me forget my awe;
Though this I realized too late, and I instead believed that all was as it seemed.
The creature had a way with words, I thought; it lured me to the edge,
Said one thing first, then did another, for each time I tried to peer into the water
It would shy away, as if I were the predator, looking for some prey to slaughter.
Later on I’d learn that this was not the kind of creature I should hope to catch.
We stayed there for a while, the thing and I, and each time it moved,
The water rippled, and I gripped my little boat as not to fall into the depths,
For I did not want to drown, but when the wind returned,
I did my best to paddle back, while the creature stayed where we had met.
In the end, my boat was moved along by nature and by passing time,
Although I’d wished to stay, and had hoped to make the creature mine.
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