Frutta di Mare

I am a seashell flung

Up from an ancient sea;

Now I lie here, among

Roots of a tamarisk tree;

No one listens to me.

I sing to myself all day

In a husky voice, quite low,

Things the great fishes say

And you most need to know;

All night I sing just so.

But lift me from the ground,

And hearken to my rim,

Only your sorrow's sound

Amazed, perplexed and dim,

Comes coiling to the brim;

For what the wise whales ponder

Awaking out from sleep,

The key to all your wonder,

The answers of the deep,

These to myself I keep.