The Enemy
The Enemy
My youth was nothing but a darkling storm
Shot through at times by brilliant bursts of sun
And in my garden few red fruits remain
After the thunder's ravages and the rain.
Now I have reached the time of autumn thoughts
When spade and rake are needed to reclaim
The flooded land where water has dug out
Holes in the earth, gaping as wide as tombs.
Who knows if the new flowers that I dream of
Will ever find in this poor soil, washed clean
Like some bleak strand, their mystic quickening food?
O sorrow, sorrow! Time consumes our life
The enemy who gnaws our hearts unseen
Grows tall and waxes strong on our lost blood.
Writer/s: Charles Baudelaire, Susanna Wallumrød
