Clouds

Whereto do you speed,

You clouds, heavenly vessels;

Beyond that lofty mountain,

Into the distance you disappear;

 

Into a land beyond mine, where,

Absolved of sorrow, you cheerfully

Partake in Summer festivities.

But here, dear clouds, where I

 

Dwell with my earthly troubles,

Eternal winter makes its kingdom;

Winds are cold, speechless, dead,

And the sky is granite, void of life.

 

I would implore you to escort me

Yonder, to the land where Sun sets

Not; but oh, I know this - I am not 

A cloud, and it is man's destiny to

 

Weep, and clouds' to pass him by,

Uninterested in his affairs, for they

Are Heaven-born angels, and man's

But a wide-eyed observer, a yearner.