There was a Whistler in that Night
When I went out into the mists and chills
I say he too was a fine Poet Seer
And in the light of moon and stars
Concurrent with a distant nightingale
That night of spells sang he:
When ageing deepens so
That our Bond will weaken proportionate
And the bastions that were strong relative
Now have become less, less strong relative
Then we shall together close the Book
And draw, let down the curtains on the play
And the time will be for us to go
Descending one by one the stairs in silence bent.
Where the dark deepens with every step below.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem