on Jan. 15, 2018 :
[. . . When
in the painted box ̶
wind blasting her,
waves going wild,
knocked flat by fear,
her face streaming water,
she put her hand around Perseus and said,
“O child, what trouble I have!
Yet you sleep on soundly,
deep in infant’s dreams
in this bleak box of wood,
nailed together, nightflashing,
in the blue blackness you lie
Waves tower over your head,
water rolls past ̶ you pay no attention at all,
don’t hear the shriek of the wind,
you just lie still in your bright blanket,
But if to you the terrible were terrible,
you would lend your small ear
to what I am saying.
Ah now, little one, I bid you sleep.
Let the sea sleep,
let the immeasurable evil sleep.
And I pray some difference may come to light
father Zeus, from you!
Yet if my prayer is rude
or outside justice,
(reviewed 8 months after purchase)