Even on very bright days such as these
She looks into an abyss and she sees
Old age and death - inevitable,
both, and infinitely sad.
You cannot choose. And so you think:
As long as I'm alive and growing old,
I will see others die, while I remain and grieve.
Survivors have to live with being bereaved.
One more gone and one more gone
And after all these years you miss someone -
What would they have thought of this,
And what would he have said to that?
You dream - a chance of meeting up again?
A dying hope, a deadened wish, a dead end.