It is the morning
And the reality is cold and unfeeling
It is the morning
And the magic of the candlelight is gone
It is the morning
And the dreaming fire is lifeless and grey
It is the morning
And the bottle is empty
It is the morning
And the rain has begun
It is my mourning
After you have gone
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Ahh to be able to stay in the sweet aftermath, instead of the mourning....bittersweet lovely piece of scribe.