Harmony

In midst of waves, there are the silver beads And scraped by time paints of the white enamel … I so like the morns which autumn breeds, For their caress, so short and so gentle. And I do like the foam on the shore, When it again is whitening in mire, And, greedy, I am hiding here a store Of hazy days, while skies are full of fire. But somewhere there, they’re roaming in flame, The same ones as I am, without name and number, And somebody’s young being – just the same – Instead of me, is ceasing in sad amber.