Yes, Son

Yes, Son, Even when it is not the season of your death I live to remember you And in every place, every new notice of death Brings new longings for you My ton Of grief weighs heavier than the all the seas Nothing dries it, nor tropic sun, nor balm breeze We ran There once, we played that game, we hugged The same dream in our hearts From the outside let them believe I shrugged This, inside I'm nailed with darts I scan All possibilities to vision how it would be here If I could substitute you again for my tear. Mikhail Grief has no season, and hope no horizon for me To beat you at chess again The waves on the shore are each like my memory But nothing washes pain Fragile Is the heart that loves, and mortality too feeble For love's lost, it droops all fire, who can be able?