If you should choose to become a siren
I would like to be your agent.
I have the perfect rock for you
Atop a river cliff with shoals below.
No need to sing, your laughter is
To draw the unwitting and uncaring
To dash themselves upon the rocks.
I know that laugh, it haunts me still.
Whenever I remember it, I smile,
But briefly, till the pain arrives.
by Hugh Marchand