Beneath the foam where moonlight fades,
The sisters sing in silver braids.
Their voices curl like kelp and thread,
And wake the dreams of sleeping dead.
Nymphs of tide and tritons fair,
With coral eyes and salt-swept hair,
They do not lure, they do not lie—
They ask the sea to teach you why.
One sang to kings who lost their crown,
One sang to ships that drifted down.
And one, the youngest, sang alone—
Her song became the ocean’s tone.