That cypress boat is drifting, <br />drifting with the flow: <br />fretful, fretful, I cannot sleep, <br />as if from a painful grief, <br />though I’ve no lack of wine <br />to ease and amuse me. <br /> <br />My heart is not a mirror, <br />you can’t just peer into it! <br />I too have brothers, <br />though not the kind to rely on. <br />I go to them with pleas, <br />only to meet their anger. <br /> <br />My heart is not a stone, <br />you can’t tumble it around; <br />my heart is not a mat, <br />you can’t just roll it up! <br />My conduct was pure and proper, <br />you cannot fault me there. <br /> <br />My grieving heart pains and sorrows, <br />I’m hated by those petty people <br />Trouble - I’ve seen plenty; <br />suffered insults - not a few. <br />Silently I brood on it, <br />awake, beating my breast. <br /> <br />You sun, you moon, <br />why do you take turns hiding? <br />Sorrow around my heart <br />like an unwashed robe - <br />silently I brood on it, <br />helpless to rise and fly away. <br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> <br />Poem number 26 in The Book of Odes, author unknown<br /><br />Jon Edward Walker<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/that-cypress-boat-is-drifting/
