So hard can be the shadows of the night
that the heartbeat of my beloved
becomes heavy and dark
So hard they can be the shadows of the night.
WHEN UNDER A CRESCENT MOON
When under a crescent moon
the breeze blows through dead foliage
you will be my rose.
When the fingertips of sadness
heavily weigh on the red string
you will be my smile.
STEFÁN HÖRÐUR GRÍMSSON, Iceland (1919 -2002)
Translation: Thór Stefánsson – Germain Droogenbroodt