Emis - young, twenty-eight- 
reached this Syrian harbor in a Tenian ship, 
his plan to learn the incense trade. 
But ill during the voyage, 
he died as soon as he was put ashore. 
His burial, the poorest possible, took place here. 
A few hours before dying he whispered something 
about 'home', about 'very old parents.' 
But nobody he called home 
in the great pan Hellenic world. 
Better that way; because as it is, 
though he lies buried in this harbor, 
his parents will always have the hope he's still alive.