English version below/Versyon Sowsnek a-woles
An bravva klok du ma, fastyes gans
kadon owr, yw poos a-dro dh'ow honna avel lien wosa glaw drog. Ow
herdhya war-nans war ow skodhow avel kofheans sad y lok dannvenegys.
Y lostow pali a sav yn jentyl war awel tomm an hav hag yth ankevav.
Ogh mes y dewlder a drig hwath yn
kornellow ow dewlagas, orth ow holya avel figur skeus a'm hunlevow,
ow lettya'n golowys ha tenna ow attendyans. Mes y dhiwiska a via koll
a neppyth mar deg ha splann, gwrys gans an amal aral.
Unnik yn y dekter ha honen a wel, mar
ollgemmyn y halsa bos kerth nebonan. Mes ottomma ow hlok du,
omdhesedhys dhe bub gwisk, pub desedhans. Difresyans a'n tomder ha'n
glaw, an howl ha'n kloud. Ottomma ow hlok du, ha my a'n gwisk gans
gooth moredh.
____
This finest black cloak,
fastened with a golden chain, weighs heavy around my neck as a scarf
after heavy rain. Pushing down on my shoulders as a constant reminder
of its understated presence. It's velvet tails rise gentle in the
warm summer's breeze and I forget.
Oh yet it's darkness still
haunts the corners of my eyes, stalking like a shadowy figure from my
nightmares, blotting out the light and drawing my attention. But to
take it off would be to loose something so beautiful and resplendent,
crafted by the other side.
Alone in its beauty and
isolated from sight, so ubiquitous that it could be anyone's. But
this is my black cloak, matched to every outfit, every situation.
Protection from the heat and the rain, the sun and the cloud. This is
my black cloak, and I wear it with melancholic pride.
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