I replied many times
in silence keeping mum.
There won't be any solution,
in your worked out sum.
Time in the hollow of time,
in my sorrowful days does gape.
I have tried much to need you,
but time was not in shape.
Time, time, time your thought
haunts me like a ghost,
I wrote innumerable mails
for you, but forgot to post.
When words fail to form thought,
when only you block my way,
elated I enjoy the fest,
alone in the winter day.
Time, time get me back
my joyful golden past,
where there's the sunshine plays,
happiness works with trust.
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(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
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William Butler Yeats
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