On an autumn day, they saw him stand;
on a winter night, they saw him on cold lands.
Such earthly things he needed were friends,
and there was no one, no one in the end.
They all knew about his loneliness
and his accompanying sorrow.
Smiles and laughter were objects
he could never borrow.
The birds and trees still stand witness,
the sky refusing once more to tell.
Everything he thought he knew
could neither be smooth nor well.
At the sun’s first ray of light,
at the trembling crack of dawn,
he spread once more his arms,
mimicking wings.
And he was gone.