There is a lithe and sylphic beauty,
unknown to mortal men,
who languishes in languid repose,
along the sea shore's line,
Her dulcet songs of sorrow and desire,
her siren call of old,
cast a spell across the sea,
for when her lilting voice
rises in seductive tune,
no man bound unto the sea,
is beyond her ethereal reach,
nor beyond her transcending touch.
For within her vast territorial expanse,
she is the minstrel of men's desires.
Hear her call,
hear her plea,
and come to her defense,
and she will offer up in blessing
ripened fruits and nectars wild,
to the souls that are in her command.
A lady of enchantment,
mistress of the tides,
she is a siren of the moon,
come to distract and deceive
your lust filled eyes.
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