Poesi på en söndag

Under the harvest moon, 
When the soft silver 
Drips shimmering 
Over the garden nights, 
Death, the gray mocker, 
Comes and whispers to you 
As a beautiful friend 
Who remembers. 

Under the summer roses 
When the flagrant crimson 
Lurks in the dusk 
Of the wild red leaves, 
Love, with little hands, 
Comes and touches you 
With a thousand memories, 
And asks you 
Beautiful,  unanswerable questions.

Carl Sandburg