When the clouds of history convene
Their annual conference in a dream
Full of grumbling-weeping storms
And lightening-bolts like augurs
The darkness comes back to us
Immense as falling snow
And we are summoned to appear
Before the throne of a single star
To hear the verdict of a child
Echo through the empty fields
The dark days of our renewal
The sun's first steps returning
Light extinguished to a simple flame
That in our hearts is burning
No comments:
Post a Comment