Across the oceans,
The traders come,
The ships with their cargoes
Cresting the waves;
Enduring storm and sea,
Wave and woe,
To bear their goods home.
Pottery, cloth, oil, wine—
Making men rich for their labor.
But those voyages are always a risk,
Dependent on the whims of the water
to make their way from foreign shore
to home docks.
Thus, o merciful lady,
We offer these stones:
Every time a storm threatens to sink our ship,
We appeal to you, bright one:
Let us live, and afterward,
We rear these votives in your name.
A gift for a gift,
And for our lives, we honor you
Who gave them to us.
A gift for a gift;
You do not need our worship, surely,
For you are a goddess,
And we are but men.
But something about it
Seems to please you anyway,
And so we continue this tradition,
Offering up payment for our lives
Every time you see fit
To return them unto us.
All Their Voices 