Old Dreams
Once I had dreamed of return to a sunlit land,
Of summer and firelight winter with inns to visit,
But here are tangles of fate one does not understand,
And as for rest or true ease, where is it or what is it?
With criss-cross purposes and spoilt threads of life,
Perverse pathways, the savour of life is gone.
What have I then with crumbling wood or glowing coals,
Or a four-hours' walking, to work, through a setting sun?
Of summer and firelight winter with inns to visit,
But here are tangles of fate one does not understand,
And as for rest or true ease, where is it or what is it?
With criss-cross purposes and spoilt threads of life,
Perverse pathways, the savour of life is gone.
What have I then with crumbling wood or glowing coals,
Or a four-hours' walking, to work, through a setting sun?
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