Risen from the ground of weeping
we see this land, like our reflections.
- "Gathered in brown farms amid blue pastures
along with their cattle people sleep."

We walk through the night, shrouded in mist,
and we turn with the moon invisibly gray.
- "The water is trembling from trains far away,
the grass smells colder of trodden-down thistles."

We grow old and then all will be tacit
that isn't retainable with the gaze of a child.
- "Like the roses the cockscombs are blighted,
the gardens won't keep their scents forever."