My heart is conversant with misery,

Like a flower that's cloaked with fury,

All the swimmers were drowned in the whirlpool, 

Each star I met was melancholy.

Happiness is a fruit I haven't tasted,

Youth a drink I have wasted,

No imagination left in a blind old fool,

My mirth is torn and rusted.

The joys I found frequently,

Have left me abandoned and lonely,

Suffering to me is such a tool,

By which we are sculpted completely.

My life is filled with sorrow,

Experience is what I don't borrow,

Wisdom persuades fire to grow cool,

And I hope for a dawn tomorrow.

***