With Gentle Fingers

David Vogel

1923

With gentle fingers
The rain is softly
Playing sad melodies
On the black instrument of night.
We are sitting in the darkness,
Each in his own house
(The children have fallen asleep)
Listening quietly to the rain
Telling our sorrow.
For we have no more words.
Our feet have been leadened
By day.
There is no dancing
Left in them.

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