From you I will have the shadow
when my body is parched,
burned by restlessness
and yes!
may hope
devour the fever
that into blind alleys
pushes the heart
and you, tree,
will hand me a fruit
if I'm hungry
and I don't want to seek,
when I'm cold
it will be your trunk
to give me relief
and that wind,
that wind
which freezes the blood with discouragement
and with aboulia
wounds my legs,
that wind
will be breeze
and vain
its blowing onto me.
From you I will have the leaves
that will let me rest
when my sleep
is full of tormented dreams,
vacous is relaxing then
and you, tree,
will be root for me
will be seed
will be lymph

will be the sun
of a new day.

7.1.'15