I saw the fare welling hands,
They were sickly,
When my hand
Touched her cold and long fingers
Which was from the family of the wailing reed
It gripped an eternal grief in its fist
The pen broke
And pain
Like black drops of ink
dropped on our papery hearts.
I saw the fare welling hands,
They were sickly. (Farrokh Tamimi)

I saw the fare welling hands, They were sickly, When my hand Touched her cold and long fingers Which was from the family of the wailing reed It gripped an eternal grief in its fist The pen broke And pain Like black drops of ink dropped on our papery hearts. I saw the fare welling hands, They were sickly.

Farrokh Tamimi

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