A Fish Lass Lament
Along the harbor shores at Gammel Strand
where other costumed fishwives ply their trade,
I trudge along the cobbled Danish dock
and barter with the catch to earn my pay.
My voice is harsh and roughened by the chore,
when once my petticoat was pink and lace,
yet now it reeks of fish and nothing more
while wind and sun is drawn upon my face.
But here, within, I'm still a princess bride,
whose dreams anew float on the evening tide,
yet start awake and washed with mornings ebb -
another day to wear a calloused pride...
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