And each new day here is a small eternity.
It's lingering at my door, like a poor wife, to walk off,
or it is, as if it were rising from my dreams, as though it were a ghost.
It might not have anything to give to me out of its hands of being one that died away.
I don't have an eye ogling for heaven or earth,
I see but the range of the clouds.
It doesn't dissolve, it doesn't clear up;
the new day brings the old clouds.
...
From the poem Contemplation
Uuno Kailas, poet from Heinola
