Now the saddening flute may sing
Of the dismal harvest and empty barns.
We were told that hard work and faith,
Will surely make us great.
They have made me an owl in a marketplace,
And they say, pout your beak and hoot,
Stir the night,
And hoot again.
The knives have blunted,
When they are needed the most.
The road has become forests
On the day of our journey.
I'm lost in that thought again.
What if it all goes away?
Everything that we love,
Every article of pride,
In the breezy dreamy night:
They sat by the sloping road,
Watching shadows and stars.
And their hearts danced to secret songs,