What comes late,
What comes soon
In dreaded syllables
To make us swoon?
What comes never,
But the moon-
Shines far away;
Midnight or noon.
What comes to me,
Then comes to you,
Worn out anew;
Both false and true.
What's in the mirror,
But half of one?
Who breaks apart
When silence come.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem