Swept up in the years' passing blur
In scene-changes dismaying
What is God doing here, I ponder?
What is He in fact saying?
Exchanging, as I do, my love-lie's
Rewarding feeling, hummed round
With what, in wind-whips, inconsistent
Chill to the bone one road-bound.
Perhaps in that, as though set up for
Through which told disenchantment
Is a thought seeded, hope-durable.
Heaven; in its unfurlment!
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem