Of September the 28th

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There goes my September
There goes my source of laughter
Curious as his infatuation
Oblivious as my affection

The sun has set for the last fall
The moon has sought for the vast hall
For the twenty-eighth day has passed
and the nights of longing shall last

Oh, where has the vivid chrysant-day gone?
An eternal dawn has broken in the Eastern temper
and an endless twilight deepens forth into my chamber
Why have I remained alone?

So long, September, my dear aster,
remember me when the last ship departs,
look for me when the second music starts,
in the West, in the hereafter.

The Lingering

The rune of the moon gleamed in scarlet.
Sunbeam has ever remained obsolete.
An omen was now yearned
from an ominous lore then hindered.

"Sleep, sleep, my clover leaf,
lie thyself in bushy sleeve.
For the swan is still,
and the pond is tranquil."

In the dark nightingales wandered.
Deep beneath the water he pondered.
As the mere entangled his boat,
so did the night engulf his thought:

"Dawn is ever near.
Tomorrow is never to fear."

An Acorn in the Middle of Pine Woods

My seeds are brown
and my cases are torn
I frown like a tiny acorn
In the middle of pinewoods I mourn

Beneath the void I wait
From the raindrops beat I avoid
Deep through the soil I reveal
High to the hill I appeal

My, I must have been insane
For Terho is my call
and Männistö is where I fall
Nevertheless,

I am.

Then So Be They

If my hands are to wash all of our dishes,
then washing dishes be they.

If my shoulders are to carry all of our bags
with variant shapes and kilograms of contents,
then carrying bags be they.

If my eyea are to read for us every book on our shelves
and my mouth is to tell you every story they possess
and to elaborate to you every meaning they express
then reading books and telling stories be they.

For it seems to me that
washing your own dishes and
carrying your own bags and
reading your own books
will cost you one life-full of time.