Yesterday was the day
when all i had,
ill in bed,
had to give away.
There's nothing like today:
a sack of hay;
a rack of clay;
and i rest just like in a king's bed.
I think of no immature will,
of mocking fire,
nor fierce desire
that makes my head stay still.
All longings i kill.
I no more pray!
I no more play!
There are no things there to admire.
So, yesterday was the day
when a creature - i myself -
tried to rest in a green bay.
One to be with my own self
above none just a sun ray.
Ready in peace, no instant array,
yet, became another self today.