The light beats upon me. I am startled- a split leaf crackles on the paved floor- I am anguished-defeated.
A slight wind shakes the seed-pods- my thoughts are spent as the black seeds. My thoughts tear me, I dread their fever. I am scattered in its whirl. I am scattered like the hot shrivelled seeds.
The shriveled seeds are split on the path- the grass bends with dust, the grape slips under its cracked leaf: yet far beyond the spent seed-pods, and the blackened stalks of mint, the poplar is bright on the hill, the poplar spreads out, deep-rooted among trees.
O poplar, you are great among the hill-stones, while I perish on the path among the crevices of the rocks.
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