Cover me with the haze of
Fragmented years,
Let me sleep through this autumn
Where rains greedily devour
Dying leaves,
And streams flow into the rotten silence.

Clothe me with the moss
Which grew in the wrinkles of the forehead,
Make me senseless for the cruel fingers of the northerly wind,
And the silver which dwells
On Venus Hill,

Just leave my eyes naked
To count in them rings of the birch tree,
Which cut down
Our immeasurable distance.