To me, dear steeds,
The hour is fast approaching.
The world of our deeds, it needs.
Moon from her litter is hurriedly retreating.
My chariot is fit
For another day is writ.
Across the heavens, arching,
Shall once more we be marching.
My bed is full of uncomfortable dreams
While she was abroad, to me, it seems
I lay in the shadows of visions and men
Trying to escape for four score and ten.
That miserable hag has vanished once more,
Once more it is time to even the score.
Destinies game, I hope, is not endless.
For here in the heavens I am eternally friendless.
No Hercules to aide, to lighten my load.
If just for a moment, to soften the blow,
Of eons spent living this unenviable show,
From high in the firmament, I follow this road.
ARLINDO COSTA
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