The Poet

Photo by Mati Mango on Pexels.com

You, the hour, are deserting me,

wounding me with the beat of your wings.

Alone: now what use my mouth?

What are my days and nights to me?

I have no sweetheart and no house,

nowhere that is my home ground. All things

into which I give myself

grow in riches and give me out.

Rainer Maria Rilke (Translated by Susan Ranson and Marielle Sutherland)

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