Octave I I Poem by Martins Akhoeneto
Octave I I
A time will come; your reckoning shall be,
When dry rains fall upon your former ways;
And tears shall fill the measure of your days,
While none shall share the grief you brought to me.
No hand shall soothe your head as once did mine,
Nor shall I linger when your sorrows start;
I'll not be there to comfort your sad heart—
Your harvest shall be what you sowed in time.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
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8/27/2026 12:14:39 AM # rel_20260826T082754Z_99b456e
Having been abandoned, I appreciate your poem, Martins. Thanks for sharing