I am a shell. From me you shall not hear
A strident voice, fierce and clear,
Hanging in the air once I’ve spoken.
My timbre is the merest token
Of tones light, barren, scrubbed clean.
I am not heavy with authority—
I am a whisper. No sonorous tones, mine.
My voice far too rapidly declines,
Drifting among the stones of the shore
Until it fades. There is no more
Except as the beats of the seas endure,
So shall my echoing song waft pure.
As suffering of the waves resides in me,
My hollows roar dimly with the passion of the sea.
