Pheasant's Cry

To no beliefs I give creed,
not one superstition feed,
not an omen shall I heed.

Still, looking back, I see
the sour wine
and pheasant's cry,
signs of what would come.

To no powers do I plead,
no doctrines ever I'll need,
not an omen shall I heed.

Still, looking back, I see
the snow-white lines
and pheasant's cry,
signs of what did come.

Jag tänker inte längre varje natt, 1
men minnen kryper stundom under skinnet. 2
Jag gråter inte längre varje natt, 3
men minnen annekterar stundom sinnet. 4

Footnotes
1  No longer am I lost in thoughts each night,
2  yet sometimes, memories creep under my skin.
3  No longer am I crying every night,
4  but memories sometimes annex my mind.

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