Lay some lilies upon a mirror pearled by dew
Colour the painting of its roses
Lay a wreathe on the sad ripples of your reflection
Adorn the silent lake.
Clear the mist in a breeze drenched in light.
Silent waters mirroring images of a silent heaven
That is to the talons, embracing the dove, of the beutiful eagle
A misty halo.
Sometimes the waters of the lakes
Reflect the silence of sunny blue skies
That makes parchment of the earth
And in cracks on the ground that is cursive script
Ordains a famine and crowns the death of the grass in silver hue.
The winds tell of the divorce of the moistness of dew
From slaking the thirst of Mother and Child.
Sometimes the music in the dew of heaven
Utters upon the lake
Odes about the greenery in which the lion sleeps,
The sweet smell of death beside its slumber.
For they say life comes from the waters
And death when the thunder veiled in the clouds is silent.
Animals and men may die in famine and heaven does not weep,
Yet the blood of pensioners that sleep beneath the skies
By soft shiny dew drops is washed away.
Upon the cross, sounds in the winds;
“My Lord, My Lord,
Why have You
Veiled it is, what the breeze utters
When it rustles through these leaves.
The call of the rainy descent of uncut diamonds as ice stones
And the answer of thunder.
Yet in the odes uttered by the falling dew
There is music of the drowning hare, and the lions peaceful sleep
To adorn in dew drops of blood the floating lilies.
The earthworm but dreams of the black eagle, of the gentle doves
That always seek to embrace the childish clouds
Drenched in light.