Tomorrow maybe the rain won’t leave the day our.
It wants to make every thing more clean and one
Can do this work by water. Everyone
Will see in the morning now, in so much time
How great work had the rainy weather done.
They just believe how clever is the weather
And the feeling will follow whether
Will be or will not to be there the Sun in sky, —
It must be there always. But time to time
We need other sights as well
Which bring for us more likeable feelings.
The nice and fine people are living everywhere
And have been growing from raindrops,
The beautiful and thankful words, —
I want about that to write. But little know.
Or maybe better, if I learn,
I can write words a few million.
But heart says to write about the sky short spoken.
Beginning of time about I never think
What does it mean one word to dree.
Why must I dree my weird, and why
I must be living so sad a life?
Behind I do not want to see,
But the future what is presenting me?
I do not know. Let me live
And say to the troubles mine: “good bye!”
I can be very patient, when
Come grief and misery, also troubles with them.
But I am tired, – always to wait
And ask the sky: when will leave me the night?
When the Sun for me at noon will shine,
And morning star bring the time nice?
I very much need beautiful advice, —
So rarely get it. How pretentious life is,
Had pretended – doesn’t hear me, nor see,
And doesn’t want to know about troubles around me.
I’ll call you, life, give the look one
Myself shall have presented some
Of the wonderful and thankful words —
About your gifts. First of the old
Forgotten word to dree, of course!
Disturbance of my feelings, but why
I don’t understand why can’t I fly.
Where are wings mine, when wing-beat I do
And fly high above the earth. Who
Can flap together with me by its wings
And would fly to the Sun with me.
Is it the man on the earth or may be not?
He stays in the sky and sees from there? Short
Is life! Or maybe I’ll be meeting in next life
My love, and love-child born for happiness ours.
Or maybe next life there isn’t for me
And hope I let there never be
Execution. How many are the old,
I can wait for them? I think such a lot.
And never, I never say
Then will be coming the holy day,
How many times I live and see that one
Was sometimes nice, or dark, or fine.
Following what will be? Is it surprising?