This
wind
dislodges
all
my bones,It
blows
a frightful
storm;It
kills
my joy
before
it grows
-In misery,
it's born.The
sun
that
I do
not see
muchWon't
dry
these
salty
tears;It
means
that
I will
never
clutchTo
hopes
for
happy
years.The
grass
that's
green
looks
brown
to me,And
grows
through
deathly
dirt;Each
flower's
blight
and
dying
treeQuite
understands
my hurt.This
life
is not
the
happy
kind -It
pulls
my soul
to shreds.It
plays
such
tricks
upon
my mindAnd
will
until
I'm dead.