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...