When sages say that dusk of skies so red,
Predicts a pleasant, sunny day to come,
Did it mean, no rain, none of tears to shed,
If even hearts would grieve amidst the glum?
But then, red figured in affairs of gloom:
Red is the rose that hid the wasps or thorns,
Red lips have brought my sanity to doom,
Red eyes are always seen on one who mourns;
Red was the dress my lady wore to dance,
Red was wine that made us forget the time,
Red was her face, when we gave love to chance,
Red was the light when not stopping is crime;
.......But sages are deemed as right all along,
.......My umbrage is for times they could be wrong.
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This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem