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estoy muriendo
para venir tan pronto a esto imaginaba obscuridad
las canciones antiguas
esté en mí como los humores eternos
estoy parado en el tiempo gris frío
ochenta años han pasado, y más
dentro de este sepulcro humilde un conqueror miente
contra la llama verde del espino-a'rbol
es usted despierto?
en su tienda guardada
arrojé mi alma al aire como un vuelo del halcón
si muero, piense solamente esto en mí
espléndido y terrible su amor
hice una pausa el marco abierto

 



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