Over the pools that make one forgetful,
My life will burn in the goings of seasons;
Forest memories will become things useful,
My life; I will be given robes and crowns,
My life's ending; I will lust for hunger,
My life; I will rise on the wind; like a bride,
Evening's rose hush before starlight, before
My memory of childhood and bread,
Will undress me, and my female beauty will stay;
My life, that transient part that wants to remain,
Will end, as the night will tell a story;
It will start: "As it has always begun,
Your ending will begin in the thin shell
Of departure with a peck of light; you'll feel...."