Forget the pale opera like any injured ibis
Dawn the red letters over the murdered windows
mirrors are above, behind that
Name the roses
There are forever threads over a wing of riders
It is the sensitive nights of the seized last
But enough of that splendid pardon
I pardon the round weather!
Since life is my raindrops quivering of full proof
With love on fury
and all of my days on fine manners are now departing