In the lonely mists

of days, short and gray

my clenched fists

mourn the yellow day.

 

When I roamed and ran

through fields of rye

and nothing but the Sun

shadowed my way.

 

It’s a sweet shadow though

of mornings fresh and bright

of the tranquil, solemn night

when we played hide and seek.

 

And the eagles befriended me

for the sky, blue, we shared

dreamt on wings of feather,

we Lived, no one cared.

 

Zephyrs took our laughter

high and high, reaching heavens

for all the Gods to gather

and join in our funny games.

 

But today the wind’s no friend

Lonely peaks, listless, stand.

No sympathy, no warmth,

the hearth is empty frame.

 

We mourn the day!