One more tiny dot, turned into a watery stack of light in the reading. One more little lamp, turns my entire life into sorrow. Every lantern I pass whispers to me to go to eternal rest. Every figure reminds me of the beginning of my own passing, and I cannot wait for the end, and the end may be so near.
Reflective and somber, with a gentle melancholic undercurrent. The language evokes a sense of constructive melancholy rather than outright anguish.