It’s a late and warm autumn.

The wind gathered leaves up on the roof

of the marvelous tavern.

The seagulls heralded a memory – an initiation.

The old pensioner-captain drank the intoxicant,

like the ambrosia of the life.

The female pirate Mary mentioned

her own stories – the primeval myth:

 

Icarus desired a dazzle of stars.

Daedalus wanted to become forever lost.

The flight was an absolute rapture.

Icarus! Be with me

as a ghost in the tavern of

the shine, the glory and the rebuke!

 

Don’t mourn the dreamy Daedalus!

His body was abducted by mermaids

of the sea and mysterious depths.

Icarus! Survive this night,

when the Morningstar has to precede

the fall of shooting stars,

here and there!

 

Drunk on the emotions, full of eudemonia,

perhaps a tender melancholy,

the woman pirate remembers the storm

of the century:

The ship! Don’t rock again!

You were close to me

and so romantic.

May the starlit, starry,

moonlit, moony melancholy

of night embrace hearts

of guests of this missing

tavern!

Forever and for eternity,

the pirates will find

their destiny,

in harbours of hope, harbors full of

taverns,

which are decorated with flowers.

The woman pirate is crying

because of the parting

with the beloved parrot

in times of fulfillment of

the enchantment-bewitchment.

Her tear is not man-like,

It has the color of the gold,

such the sun during the storm.

Mary longs for the pearl's seeking,

in the sea full of memoirs of Daedalus,

of the hero of amusing and musing tenderness.

The sempiternity will be true.