Classic Poem

Sorrow, mute, a guitar
Too soon by misery sharpened,

Its chords burn in my hands, I seek
shelter in it, seek shelter from it.

" Ah, tomorrow, sweat
tickles, the soul, ardent,

Craves flight. My clothes carry
the stain, I wish my soul as pure. "

You who drill with your pain the well-hole,
Leaving your mercy in the water,

Making of my words a mouth
To shout in a night without friends,

Drill deeper, your black pain
Will end tomorrow.

Your bread poisoned, eat what your soul
Desires, and may your life be long.