by Yiannis Ritsos
You were kind and sweet of temper, all the good graces were yours,
all the wind's caresses, all the gillyflowers of the garden.
You were light of foot, treading as softly as a gazelle,
when you stepped past our threshold it always glittered like gold
I drew youth from your youth and to boot, I could even smile.
Old age never daunted me and death I could disregard.
But now where can I hold my ground? Where can I find shelter?
I'm stranded like a withered tree in a plain buried in snow
Last updated June 21, 2015