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.