And leaned my back to the pillar that was worn
Looked up and closed my eyes
For the sun was bright in that summer evening
I again opened and saw something moving
High above me bearing a misty hole
Clouds they were with a strange
Hole of blurred beam of yellow or white
From which a heavenly hand
Stretched outside holding a heart
Closed my eyes and again I saw
No other hole, no other hand
Winning the beam, dreariness came ahead.
With the hole, it pulled itself inside
Closing me in darkness
Many say they live
But they don’t live lives
But death
Only few live it, lovely life.
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