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 fed and magic slave

        of t moves in turn through blad gold:

        rise, lead and possess a creation

        so ric its flowers perish

        and it is full of sadness.
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