In the quiet glen she sits,

Splashing in the cool, clear waters.

Her tail is deep blue-purple,

A color as exotic as the Italian sky.

On the mossy rock she sits,

Guarding her mystic glen.

If you dare approach her,

Don’t look higher than the lapis that lies against her hollow throat,

For the mermaid has no face,

No eyes to see,

No lips to speak.

The mermaid has no hands,

Nothing to touch the silky soft moss with.

And so she sits on the moss-covered rocks at the edge of the water,

Silently guarding her mystic glen.