A time there is for cellar dampness
dank walls of mold in mildewed veils
there is a time for flags and banners
and caravels with gloried sails
A time there is for searching, learning
though answers may be vague and few
there is a time for blind forgetting
when pain embraces morning dew
A time there is for sowing, growing
young shoots of fresh vines burst anew
there is a time for brown decaying
as harvest fruit is reaped and brewed
A time there is to slow the millstones
when streams of life have run their course
there is a time to close the barn door
with small regret and scant remorse
A time there is for cellar dampness
dank walls of mold and mildew's veils
there is a time for flags and banners
and ships of joy with gloried sails.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem