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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