Comfort

The river can have comfort when it likes;
It can flow down to the endless sea,
Forgetting the slopes, the cascades, the dikes.
But where is there comfort for me?

The wind can have comfort at its choice;
It sings in the leaves of a tree,
In such close company that both have one voice.
But where is there comfort for me?

The forest can have comfort when it asks;
All four seasons with it during the year will be,
And set it to blooming and budding tasks.
But where is there comfort for me?

The light can have comfort that it takes;
It can sink beneath the earth and be free
From shining upon the land and the lakes.
But where is there comfort for me?

Only in darkness can comfort I seek;
Only to the arms of death can I flee,
And forget being alive, and being weak.
There, there is there comfort for me.