The stars weep endlessly
with the thoughts that
are mine own;
Time, carry me gently,
sleeping in your arms,
for the thoughts that are mine
last naught forever;
Guided I am by my ponderings
and perish I would without them,
as long as I am, my thoughts shall be;
But now my thoughts
are closed no more,
and the gallery of stars laugh
as I become another...
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem