She walked the shore to find a place
They called the bay of bells.
For here an ancient music slept
In long abandoned shells.
Whoever found a certain shell
And pressed it to the ear
Would hear a peeling of the bells
Like heaven drawing near.
But only one, the legend said,
Would ever find the magic shell,
Then vanish to its echoing
In the ocean swell.
The natives shun the bay of bells,
There's mourning now along the land.
Pointing seaward, they will say:
The fatal shell is in her hand.
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