Day is just a day,
And night, just a night,
Or, shall I blame them damned?
Oh! I see them,
I see them smiling, my comrades,
Flowers have to bloom, they know,
And like trees, they hold them,
Stealing hearts of green,
That obey but time.
So, do I cover with golden cloths,
The empty air,
The air of oxygen and carbon dioxides,
That casts no prophecy or philosophy?
Perhaps I do, yet I don't,
But I will;
For I am but mortal,
And some frivolous contempts
Of an insignificant countenance
Do shake my very existence;
For I am,
Yes I am, proudly, a coward.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Write comment. Such a nice poem, P. B. G. Read my poem, Love and Iust. Thanks