Oh, old night, my naïve friend, are you mourning?
For the endless summer sky turned hollow,
Depraved of stars and devoid of meaning,
Hence the dance of constellation’s fading glow.
Now only sparks of bittersweet nostalgia,
Undermining your fire’s golden gleam,
Filling your very vessel with inertia,
As it’s crumbling to ashes and unveiling its scheme.
Countless floating embers soiling the hollyhocks
And then radiate a singular shade of violet,
Tainted luminary, despair befogging its thoughts.
Oh, pitiful night, don’t give in to the silhouette.
No more but few honest sparks are left, restoring your brilliance.
Tether and fasten to these, reducing the dread to indifference.