Nigh the river where the sorrows
Sway thru’ the waves over the ferry,
I sit and glare’em or sometimes
Glance beyond the stars until cock-crow.

Miserable days yet persisting,
I don’t know what brings the destiny.
Or will morrow be pleasant to see
Or even more worse than what it is.

The stars that collapse swiftly,
My instinct feels something inevitable,
I’ve heard and brought-up where in
People talk and believe superstition.

Yet believing as such, somewhere
In my mind that gleans acquiescely,
That, for sure there’s a bright morrow
Hidden somewhere in my sorrow.