Delta

δ
Delta


When passion’s gay blossom withers and fades
And loneliness enters unbidden
Existence itself distorts and decays
Mind ponders thoughts hitherto forbidden.
Was love real? The cry of a tortured soul
Whose meaning is now called into question.
What kind of love would abandon me so;
Should I make ‘nature’ my one confession?
Dear child, pray your idealism retain
Yours is merely a misapprehension.
For love you must look in the One who remains
Through it all; yes, even condescension.
        When love will grasp the plural with both hands
        Then together life’s woes you both shall withstand.

Thursday 19 April 2007


Á ma petite fleur...

(«Ωραίο πράγμα ο πληθυντικός!»)