I am here, I do not sleep.
Like you, I have no lasting rest.
Like you, I never pass that test.
I lie and wonder what waits ahead.
My restless rustlings confound my bed.
I sweat and breathe and cry and moan,
but peace is not for me to own.
What we want cannot be found
in house or church or in the ground.
If it ever finds its way
past dewy dark and dreary day,
to greet you on some fateful morn
and kindles in you hope reborn,
Would you kindly send reply
by lifting up your branches high?
But if not, then don’t despair
for I will stroke your leafy hair.
Keep thyself most bowed and bent
and I will follow your descent.
You can hollow out my fears
and I will catch and guard your tears.
Together we shall always be
part weeping girl and crying tree.
And time and wind will pass us through,
and leave us with a grayish hue,
and I shall draw my final breath
and enter into final death.
Weeping then, alone you’ll be.
Sweet friend, I hope you weep for me.
