The White Lady looks down upon me,

Her serene face is distorted by the rippling waves.

She sheds pure, silvery light upon the water.

The path painted by her beams ends at my toes,

On the edge of the ocean-sea.

If I were to walk out into the waves,

Would I be on top of the waves,

Kept aloft by these silver strands?

Or would I sink beneath the blue-black waves,

Never seen again.