So doleful
So woeful
So sad!
I stand in sweeping scare,
Clad
In sorry weeds,
Forced to stare
At this murder before my eyes
As my music bleeds
And dies!
The mourner, the crier
The weeper I’ll be
I’ll raise my moaning higher
My grievous elegy
The dirge is my song
Niobè’s my queen
Let all the world lament along
And all creation keen!
So rueful
So woeful
So sore
I stand before the crucifixion
Of tuneful rime
Struck at core
Staring at this hideous crime
As my music bears the infliction
And vanishes at her prime.
Beirut
February 6th 1987
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem