O, fickle winds that twist the mind's resolve,

How dost thou play upon this fragile heart?

With hopes that rise as fleeting as the dawn,

Then sink to depths where shadows reign and dwell.

The stars, once bright, now cloak themselves in gloom,

And dreams, like specters, vanish from the eye.

What hand unseen doth guide this cruel jest?

What fate hath wove such tangled webs of woe?

Yet still, within this breast there burns a flame,

A flick'ring light that dares defy the storm.

For though the heavens seem to turn away,

And fortune's wheel doth spin a bitter thread,

I shall not bow to sorrow's endless night,

But rise, though beaten, to the break of day.

For in the heart of man lies strength untold,

To conquer even fate, and break its hold.