My youth was nothing but a tenebrous storm,
Pierced sometimes by brilliant rays of sun;
The thunder and the rain wreaked such havoc,
That in my garden few fruits are ripe.
Now I’ve reached the autumn of my mind,
And I need the shovels and the rakes
To sow anew the inundated earth,
Where rain dug holes like burial mounds.
Who knows if those new flowers of my dreams
Will find in this washed out soil
The mysterious elements to make them thrive?
O grief ! O grief ! time eats away our lives,
And the dark Enemy gnaws at our heart and sucks
Our blood, on which he thrives.
Pierced sometimes by brilliant rays of sun;
The thunder and the rain wreaked such havoc,
That in my garden few fruits are ripe.
Now I’ve reached the autumn of my mind,
And I need the shovels and the rakes
To sow anew the inundated earth,
Where rain dug holes like burial mounds.
Who knows if those new flowers of my dreams
Will find in this washed out soil
The mysterious elements to make them thrive?
O grief ! O grief ! time eats away our lives,
And the dark Enemy gnaws at our heart and sucks
Our blood, on which he thrives.
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