How Shall I Sing Again

Above the river Oise

And the fox-red field,

Gulls that flew over the Seine

Over the Oise come flying-

Calligraphy brushed across the sky.

In the pine-dark wood

No mandolin, no flute,

Only the peaceful dead

In naked silence lying

Found in the rubble of war

Darkened and dying.

My grief narrows my pride

All my bones crying pain.

Gulls flying over the dead and the Oise

Go flying over the Seine.

O dead mother how shall I sing again!