Strolling all alone ... across the ancient cemetery ...-
tell me, isn't everything here ... of a timeless green?!
I see that several visitors are also gathered here,
having an idle, little saunter on the old graveyard ... just like me.
I keep a candle burning for myselfe, so I won't feel all alone;
we should have done so, but we never celebrated anything here at all.
A leaden weariness creeps viscously like syrup down the hills,
felling everybody ... as it crawls upon the monuments ...-
only I escape its power, for the moment seem immune;
yet, two elderly ladies, guarding the right, the future tomb
are scolding me, so filled with anger, filled with envy and disdain:
"The dead are furious with you!
as you're wasting your precious time!"
Now there are faces in the carpet, there are people living in the walls;
I hear the dead are calling: "sadness lies in wait in the hours before dawn!"
These moments, fleeting as they are, they testify to us
they are the silent witnesses of a season about to pass;
I cannot but admit, carelessly ignoring life's finiteness,
that I am filled with fear and worry ... and so much shame because of this.
Well, everything I see, yes all the images are blurred,
it's hard to guess the future in the short-sighted world.
How should this simple handicap be lightly well ignored,
considering the dreadful blindness with which I have been born.
We should have done so, but we never celebrated anything here at all;
I hear the dead are calling: "sadness lies in wait in the darkest hours ...
... right before the dawn!"
