Beloved Singer of the souls, that did not
find even the dust to sit on, did you not sing for her the poetry,
that went into the wetness of our hearts,
and,
into those green veins of trees and birds, and
why did you go away without that last song,
that we all wished would come,
from the clouds, the rains, that you sang so much off, may be,
we will still hear again, and often,
the songs that will keep on singing...Mortals can alas, but only hear...and cry...
