The parlor of my home
Once echoed life;
Now dreary silence
Becomes its ornament.
The bustling and bursting forth
Now becomes retraction,
The free spirit of life
Now dons the reaper’s garbs.
Heavens weep;
The Earth, wet with angel’s tears,
Lays lonely, depraved of sunlight,
As the roof of the world -
The clouds high above -
Enclose it like a tomb.