My
love, once upon a time your poet launched a great epic in his
mind.
Alas,
I was not careful, and it struck your ringing anklets and came to grief.
It
broke up into scraps of songs and lay scattered at your feet.
All
my cargo of the stories of old wars was tossed by the laughing waves and
soaked in tears and sank.
You
must make this loss good to me, my love.
If
my claims to immortal fame after death are shattered, make me immortal
while I live.
And
I will not mourn for my loss nor blame you.