I look at my luck unhappily,
As it flows away like lava's glow,
Consuming all with fiery glee,
Leaving me with naught but burned seeds to show.

I watch as it burns with blazing ire,
Destroying all in its relentless path,
Leaving me with naught but blackened mire,
And filling my heart with despairing wrath.

Oh fortune, why do you forsake me so?
Leaving me with nothing but ashes and pain,
Turning my hopes to dust as you go,
Leaving me with naught but sorrow's stain.

But though my luck may be cruel and cold,
I will rise again, strong and bold.

Tomaž Jevšenak