Sailor
You don’t have all day
Of a half-day
You only have the dawn
But that’s still better than foul weather
Sailor
My father was a sailor
His wife became a widow before her time,
But that’s still better than foul weather
Foul weather, foul weather
That plunges the village
Into unbearable sadness
Foul weather, foul weather
Those recollections are too difficult
For my memory
Faced with the sea, only women crying:
“You took them from us!”