Karin Boye (1900-1941 / Sweden)
No time is like this one,
the evening's final, silent hour.
No sorrows burn any longer,
no voices crowd any more.
Then take now into your hands
this day that is past, like a token.
For I know: into good you will turn
what I have held or broken.
Evilly I think, evilly I act,
but all things you heal and cleanse.
My days then you transform
From gravel to precious stones.
You must lift, you must carry,
I can only leave all things behind.
Take me, lead me, be close to me!
Show me what you next may intend!
Comments about this poem (Evening Prayer by Karin Boye )
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