That craft you glimpse, my dear observers,
Boasts of once dancing with the wind's whims.
No vessel, whether by row or rudder,
Could match its dash or the tales it hymns.
The vast Adriatic's whispered tales,
The secrets Cycladic islands hold tight,
Majestic Rhodes or Thracian gales,
All have seen its shadow take to flight.
Once a tree, atop Mt. Cytorus it swayed,
Humming tunes with every rustling leaf,
Now, tales of Amastris it conveyed,
Sharing adventures, joys, and sometimes grief.
Birthed atop your peaks, it claimed with glee,
Skimming your waves, it found its spree,
Navigating tempests, calm and storm,
Guided by winds that shifted its form.
Never did it pray to shoreland's deities,
From ocean's edge to this placid bay,
Yet now, in this quiet sanctuary it lies,
Whispering tales of its golden day.
To the twin heroes, it now sings its song,
For in their legends, all tales belong.
