There are seven ships left in the harbour br seven ships and not a single flower br All of that water, what's the matter? br Does it hate perfume? Why no bright colors? br br Tiny naked stones overwhelm you with their sadness br the black empty shells infuse you with their gloom br Doesn't a single love-struck woman stroll here? br Not one poet demented by illusions? br br Doesn't someone else want to see the ocean br as a diminutive copy of a garden? br See roses climbing up along the rough rocks, br a jasimine blossoming in springs currents? br br If the ocean doesn't love plants, it would never love birds, br it will never know nothing of music, rhyming or love.