Whose fault is it that I don’t have a voice?
The bright stars shine for all except for me;
Upon them, all my friends and foes rejoice
While my fate has me naught but silent be.
When, facing warmth, muteness headed misplays,
Like glitt’ring flops, in my disgrace it bathed,
And while I fought, inside, its wicked ways,
Fate, cunning, from the quarrel left unscathed.
Yet I know hope can soothe this soul distraught—
I write me this when I fear it’s too late:
Though in our fate in time our paths cross not,
If stars align, then I’ll resign my fate.
Now calm, I stop to ponder what’s in store;
I smile, as one day I will fear no more.