I plead for all my life to carry,
As carried myself to heaven’s due,
But never carrying the burden here,
For that I shall surely be under way,
For that I am sure to be walked there,
Soon finds a grip to stand and walk.

Sooner my darling dearest, oh adorned;
How I shall treat if not my hand to treat,
Though better I shall deliver to heal,
As healed my heart whilst thy life fades,
For at the beacon of hope there still remains.

Oh, darling wife; how now I shall serve this,
To tell thee how much I care and serve for love,
Nor to pervert Venus in her ways, but virtue lone,
To give thee the life for greater happiness,
And to lose thee the life of sorrow mine.

Thy kindred here to there the Earth aground,
How dear that Nature be ought to claim,
Now fair I am bruised by great wounds awry,
By right victory and scorn shall hers heard be,
That brings a charm and soothing tale to take.

And bitter poison thus take, loud noise heard;
That coughs for while but only distant heard,
In this very village am I not so but only faint,
All but fields and sun to dare our lives right,
Neither great nor perfect, but still in woe.

Or it be the way I having known,
To this world carried by feathers,
And soon be leapt whence more it war
Mine heart at stake and little more done,
Could not as fate be had a brute borne,
Thus soothed upon meeting her, and tamed;
To breathe her breath for more a life,
To bury myself under the Earth the better.

Oh, how is it that as years recede mine
Earn’st way to be the river that falls,
As falls is my happiness to a longing despair,
That befall me the pitfalls mine own disrepair,
How long I shall wait to heal for thee,
How long I shall wait to pray for thee.

Thus I bring thee forth to the hospital,
There I think I shall have thee sorted,
Thy inner wound be mine own inner wound,
Dare not thy consumption here be mine last,
But be never it nor vain never a pain strike!

But, alas; alas, and more alas, for all ways:
To have not the money to soothe for thee,
To have not the money to afford they health,
Am but a poor man, and so poor my tears water
The crops that grow; mine own heart their value.

For I cannot continue, my love; lest I am sort,
As it is all too late to reach thee here,
But lay barren promise to care for our daughter,
To work my hardest for a family to honour thee,
To ensure my virtue shall be the virtue thine.

No car to take; no road to follow; none to path,
But only miles from home, and leagues from thee,
Here that road I travel, and none to help,
My dearest, I shall walk thee back home as young,
My dearest, I am as young as my heart’s content.

I refuse, my daughter; this burden is mine to bear,
For ’tis not mine of fault to be born in this land,
For not my fault to bear the insignia in me,
As exiled I am, but sure still I am known to be;
As lonely I am, my heart still braves the heat.

I shall carry thee, my wife, down to Earth;
I shall carry thee back home and slow,
My strength; thy resolve, so it be had;
My way to nature, thy way to happiness;
My daughter here, our blessing greatest.

Weep not, my fair daughter, ’tis not end;
For now we arrive and so shall we honour,
No money nor way; shall rest her for all,
Now to arrest nature, for all this in crime;
But death nor crime be the justice of me.

May nature water thy beauty for beauty,
For tulips and liles and roses here,
Nor emerald, amethyst and beryl;
Nor diamonds, rubies and gold,
Nor the Universe equal thy virtue.

As times go by, I shall visit thee again;
I shall continue to do so. I shall be brave.
Thy way shall be compass for my direction;
My direction shall be token for thee,
My token for thee is my love to thee.

Thus now I end my song, to and fro;
I breathe word for our daughter:
Now a mother and took me to the city,
But I still walk the miles to visit,
For we’re closer now and the soil sinks.

As I bow before the folds of the Earth,
Every life I knew shines to light,
All the worlds collapse before me,
I see a spark that delivers a sigh,
Reaches me hither and climbs me forth.

Category:
Family, Life, Nature, Poetry, Works
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