Swaying
The rosebush`s branches
And bowers
The wind greets the pale figure
That by the moonlight
Emerges
Among the garden`s flowers
In the shadowy
And cold night.

Her lover waits,
Quietly,
In the green,
And she gives herself to him
In the same natural way
That of her ancestors
Once had been.

Thus it is finished
-without even a good bye-
The strange scene,
For it is so bizarre

That there are no sighs,
No caresses,
No affection.

And when leaving,
She goes on
Letting on the way
Of herself
White, silvery trail,
Reflecting stars,
Slow and serene,
The solitary
Snail