It is now the beginning of the end,
A finish that I have known for so long.
There is no reason, only rimes which lend
And mend our existence, 'though we are wronged.
The sky is weeping. I do see the tears
And have known the moors; there's no more I need.
Belief comes creeping. Sentence, I do fear.
When the fog there lures, my wounds shall not bleed.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem