In the fields, once reached by water’s tongue,
Grass never whispers on its own, alone,
For the sea leaves many songs behind.
To all the flowers on the ground they show
A last glimpse of sunlight, gone with
Our hopes. Wandering the same
Forever-golden path we see above,
The waves, never destroyed by storm,

Never believed to die; the air is always
Full of sound to carry – and we trust
It will not sink beneath the surface, where dead flowers live,
After we feed the waves with our disappointed dreams -

We always bring them to the shore to feel the sounds.
Those are old habits in our grey town, once laid down
Before the sea’s retreating eye.
It saw our trees turn into fallen ships,
Finding no spring behind saltwater’s lens.

Now we dream, for there is nothing else,
But fields around us, hiding water’s depth
As if they were our lives stretched towards death,
Linen sails greeting black clouds,
Now – 

May I sleep again? When everything is falling
Into thick waters I -
Sit there with my arms crossed and I see that
Flowers fed by storm will always drown.