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.