I was carrying my Grief
on spring ice of my belief,
when it broke, my girlish soul fell and couldnít uprise.
It went down like a cobble-stone
while my heavy Grief alone
caught hold on a notched brink
of the gap in ice.
And my Grief since that dim day
has been seeking for my way,
many Rumours do follow it with a falsehoodís wreath.
And the fact that I didnít die
knew a willow, old and dry,
and some quails who used to cry
for their homelessness.
Who of them had said to him -
to my master, to my dream?
They had blabbed me out, alas, all had been in vain!
And this passion he couldnít resist,
so he came and gripped my wrist,
and my Grief and Rumours tagged
after him again.
He came up with me, embraced,
took me in his arms and paced,
from behind his back my Grief grinned and smirked at me.
But all time for him to stay
was not more than half a day
while my Grief remained for long,