For thirty years I crawled
Through unearthly wild-wending tunnels,
(While you looked away, did nothing at all),
Into a dream with no ending.

When I used my pen breaking through the last bend
I merged into you, and felt the full sorrow.
You are the room which narrows and narrows;
You are the drowning house, but not

In the harrows when the barriers fail,
But floods of human mud and effluence;
We had to bury you in a faraway barrow
Where mourners are banned by the God of Tomorrow.

A gale could not uproot a tulip,
It was Time who took the baby’s tooth, no hex.
Enough of this fruitless relationship,
Lord of thoughts of truthlessness.

When all is done, loneliness is murder,
Alone in your cell without horses or bell,
With just your thumbs and a useless spell,
Your thoughts will run further and further.