Her bookshelf to the brim and bursting
With pages worn, and well
Remembered for the virtues
Lost
And husbands in the war

Fallen woman--fall, and women
Harvests sown and reaped
Moon of full, of wax, of
Wane
Her heart of Shadow's seed

Hand of diamond and of band
Ashes, ashes, dust
A love once lived and now, one
Lost
The pages' faces face us
And sages burn, away

I was passing through my childhood
on a bike
to the delight of flying with the balloons

من از کودکی هایم می گذشتم
بر چرخی که می راندم
...تا شوق به پرواز درآمدن با بادبادک ها