I’ve heard it said that grief is hard to leave behind;
This saying, to put it mildly, is too weak to describe my feelings.
Since the morning of yesterday I’ve drove it away,
But today I am completely tangled again.
This month comes to an end, but my grief has no limit;
The year starts afresh, and my sadness is also resumed.
Who surely knows that under this cap of reed
Is a sort of man that has been sad from long-ago?
* * * * * * * * *
There is a master who meals the rosy clouds;
His dwelling avoids any laymen's tracks.
As for his days, they are bleak and crisp—
His summertime is just like the autumn.
Desolated ravine—endless gurgle and splash;
Through tall pines the wind sighs and moans.
Amid them, if you sit still for some time,
You'll forget the worries of a hundred years.
Share
Print
Save
Follow
Grief can be an arduous journey....
Diana....
It's okay, to feel these parts of ourselves.
Blessings,
Christine
Ron