After meeting my only end,

In a short while or a long time,

But my name will be sealed

On my works and productions,

As the beating up spoondrift

Lifted upon the lofty waves

To be then lost forever

In the far-flung wind-water element.

These days and these nights

Will be burnt to ashes

In the fishermen's hot breath

And salted air blown down

By the onshore gusty wind

Raging amid evanescent spoondrift.

Before the whipped foam turns back

To the shoreless seven seas,

Its native element and final destination,

It will burst last time furiously,

Washing away the cliffy coast

In the eternal struggle of water with earth.