My guitar

My Guitar

My guitar starts its crying
Smashing dawn's darkness.
My guitar starts its crying
Impractical to stop it.
No way to stop it.
Humdrum crying, as a drip,
As wind on top of snow.
No way to stop it.
Crying for things far away.
Sands of a hot south,
Calling snowy blooms.
An arrow without a path, crying,
Through a night without morn,
Dawn's bird stiff on a branch.
Oh guitar!
My soul cut by a handful of swords.

FGL. Trans. "La madre de Clare."