t s mortal flame.
Abstracted pale mourner, standing t way
against twig
t revolves around you.
Speechless, my friend,
alone in the dead
and filled he lives of fire,
pure he ruined day.
A boug falls from t.
t roots of night
grow suddenly from your soul,
and t again
so t a blue and palled people
your neakes nouris.
O and fecund and magnetic slave
of t moves in turn through black and gold:
rise, lead and possess a creation
so ric its flowers perish
and it is full of sadness.