A bitter wind has blown across our day,
And Pride, that tyrant, stole the azure sky;
I cast a stone, I made the spirit cry,
And chased the gentle muse of Love away.
Now humble, low, I lay my armor down,
No shadows shall I seek to hide my blame;
I wish to quench the anger and the flame,
And smooth the furrow of your weary frown.
What worth is wrath against the sands of time?
True love remains a river deep and wide;
Let us not drown within the foolish tide,
But rise above in harmony sublime.
Grant mercy to the heart that rues its part,
And let my trembling hand now seek your own;
Let seeds of sweeter morrows be re-sown,
And peace restore the beating of your heart.
In the grand tapestry of relationships, the threads of forgiveness are often the strongest gold. This adaptation seeks to capture the Victorian spirit of contrition—an acknowledgment that admitting one’s fault is the noblest act of devotion. May these verses help mend the silence.
