The Oracle

Mikis Theodorakis

I was given the wrong oracle
and I gave you my hand
and all the suffering of the world
burst forth and became grief
and summer blossomed
On your black uniform
on your black horse

a black bird I embroidered for you
and a red sunrise
on your tear
Loss took the night
and the dream knives
false was the oracle
that the river will return
with ten doves