These--that were a moment past all blue and bright, are grey again
These fickle skies.
It seemed that suddenly the sun was filled up with pain
And closing up its eyes
Let fall its teardrops in the Rain.
Grey--and the sullen winds and those goodbyes
That I hear still,
As though my longing, time and tide defies;
As though my will
From wanting fashion lies.
Hope--and the everlasting caravan of Time--and tears
In the Stygian tide of fears,
Wild yet unbending
Filling all our years.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.