All we can do, in this deep summer hour,
with the rain, the taxis and the flowers,
walking between the dear ones holding on,
is shout, shout for joy.
Everything that has been broken you’ll mend,
throughout the morning of one day,
sleeves fluttering in the air, in the air,
and we’ll shout, shout for joy.
I said so little.
I could not think of replies.
The words all flew away,
up away from me, up into the trees,
where they shout, shout for joy