Just slopes
on tender roads,
gliding they ride
upon shifted roles,
and whereas the dark may rise
there is no hope for a better day
for the sun upon its silver crimson
seems to persuade me “tonight
will be as no other.”
No more hesitation, embrace inspiration,
but I dare deny the sun and his flowing
engrave, I envy the sorrow which the moon
delays;
but not within my mercy will I admit,
sentiments of compensation deliver
my stay.
For the mind is kind as the heart is wise,
for the endless sorrow is yet to arrive,’
for the end of the days won’t rejoice in my days,
better days are always to come.