THE BYGONE DAYS

When an old man lies ill, all his bygone days come
and sit gently in a ring around his bed.
They don't complain, they do not cry or sob.
They nod slowly and think of old things.
And each of them tells his never forgotten story,
and each of them has a candle and lights it quietly.
They are reflected clearly in the dark rivers' water.
He goes, goes beneath vaults, beneath arches of quivering
light.

For more information, please visit the website of David McDuff and his own pages with the translations.