From the icy niche where men placed youI lower your body to the sunny, poor earth.
They didn't know I too must sleep in itand dream on the same pillow.
I place you in the sunny ground, with amother's sweet care for her napping child,and the earth will be a soft cradlewhen it receives your hurt childlike body.
I scatter bits of earth and rose dust,and in the moon's airy and blue powderwhat is left of you is a prisoner.
I leave singing my lovely revenge.
No hand will reach into the obscure depthto argue with me over your handful of bones.
