The Wife's Song
Now the quiet full of fear
lowers in our little shack.
Over is the fight, my dear,
but you don't come back.
And I wept, and did implore;
why would you not hear?
So you went. Within our door
close it grew and drear.
All I heard was the alarm
of my heart that beat in pain,
and softly I put out my arm
hoping to find you there again.
I am jealous, Fernandez,
there's a word I hate -
'freedom', - for it did obsess
all your thoughts of late.
Maybe you are right, who knows?
Maybe you are right, my dear,
but the pain still tears and gnaws
and I fear, I fear
that dreadful emptiness that hangs
in our room and seems to grow.
There, I hear, the front-gate bangs. -
But you won't come back, I know.
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Comments about this poem (The Wife's Song by Nikola Vaptsarov )
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