The Cossack waves came pounding in,
Turquoise horses with silver manes;
Each one charged in their line to win,
The sand interred their cold remains;

The subtle evening stole away
The late possessions of the sun
Until the jasmine’s lush bouquet
Snuffed his light and left him none;

The summer seemed so sure and strong,
Foundations poured with molten steel
That set the blue so high so long
We felt secure in our Bastille.

Each wave, each day, each season comes,
And all of them seem strong, alone,
But every single one succumbs;
Beneath each lovely face, the bone.

Every day, each moment, brings
The changes we might curse or bless,
But all the while the heart-beat sings:
“One less, one less, one less, one less.”