Edith Södergran: Poems
We, women, we’re so close to the brown earth.
We ask the cuckoo what it expects of the spring,
we embrace the naked trunk of the fir
and search for signs and advice in the sunset.
I loved a man once, he believed in nothing…
He came a cold day with empty eyes,
he went a happy day with forgetfulness on his face.
If my child doesn’t live, then it’s his…