Oh maybe in some far and foreign field
There sits a star that never liked the sky
That much prefers the barren soggy ground
Just as I
But here dawn breaks into a busted smile
The pastel clouds soon cover up the sun
This morning is a sad and perfect song
That’s never sung
Oh here there’s mourning in the falling rain
And in the birds that sing there soft cuckoo
And the wind will never understand this face
Nor will you
Written from the depth of a very musical soul. Very moving, Ben. Warm regards, Sandra
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
The mood lifts the chin to the horizon, which carries no promise of anything to illuminate the grey within. Compelling and poignant, stirring and thoughtful. Your work is a joy to read, Ben. Thank you.