A Ballad

Poem By Michel Galiana

The wonderful Autumn blew its horns at my pane
Where are the silver horns? Is the hunting over?
They must have lost my scent. The barks are on the wane.
I wail in vain, a mocked lover
Whose years shall not last for ever.

What you sowed in May you must reap in September.
But my seedlings that sprout and diamond-like sparkle
Are dead. Aged wines shan't fill your casks, Vintager!
On twin towers the loving couple
Hail eternally each other.

Thirty three snow white swans that overflew my head.
Thirty three black ravens that shall never fly home.
My legend, a short-lived rose, flourished in my stead
And the loves of the years bygone
Are bewailing the loves to come.

The wonderful Autumn heralds Winter that sounds.
Grooms and whips shall hunt down the doe through the heather.
Barren for evermore shall remain my own grounds
But I shall never get over
Rose or wheat I didn't gather.

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