Ditch depth dug wrinkles

on my face, rolling pearls in rows

Hide me behind half-blind shutters

You see me wrapped up in smoke

At me you stare at empty space

Placard-lonely myself stands up on the stage

I wish nor the good neither the sacred,

I wish nor the light neither the hatred.

Now above all I learn I got

to be a single doomed of the lot

Crawling upwards on my own branches.

For I laugh at them heartily

at my treasures and vanity,

When my wrinkles are dug to trenches.