The maiden who milk morning dew,
my innocent dream of woman hood,
woke me up again.

The light is as before,
the coffee aroma, the same after a night of medicine
and restless distress.

There’s a scent of clean rain in the air good,
let it wash dark thoughts
and ancient rancour away.

Regrets?
Wish I had loved the world more
and not harboured bitterness against my frailty.