We do not know our fate
Or when the unexpected looms,
We continue from date-to-date
As the roof falls in on quiet rooms;
We know so much but so little
In our self-congratulatory race,
When events beyond our control skittle
The pins from carefully assembled place;
Our plans are lost as the years pass
Derailed and scattered away,
Like the sorry, down-trampled grass
Once of thrusting, neat-bladed array;
Let the grains of sand gather in the desert
Let the winds blow every way they choose,
Sit back whilst overpowering forces assert
Watch as fate lights it's dampened fuse.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem