Looking out a window of a den of thieves.
mottled by the endless night.
A young woman, mourning while the mountain breathes.
No lover will greet her in the morning light.
Casting shadows on the castle's wall.
Tombstones parting night from day.
Sparrows perched on granite call,
'Come young lovers, come this way! '
Day has risen to work it's will.
An officer comes to note the change.
The work is done but more work still.
Mourners wailing some dirge arranged...
At dusk's approach a fire is lit.
Offending winter's icy breeze.
The earth removed bit by bit.
The wind stumbles in the trees.
Night has come to her in sorrow.
To mock her as yet she grieves.
alone she lay to ponder the morrow.
and cry no comfort to be believed.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem