Gift To The Seer

She lies back upon the stone,
Combing her weed-green hair
With a comb made of whale's bone,
Stirring a hand in the water- there.

You cannot see her? She is there,
Lying with her head upon the stone,
Combing out her weed-green hair
With a comb made of whale's bone.

She is there, and you must see.
In the morning, forevermore,
She will be gone into the sea.
You cannot see her on this shore.

Well, so be it. Forevermore,
I will be proud that I could see.
At dawn I will find her comb on shore,
A gift to the seer from the sea.