Under the Days
The days fall upon me;
One by one, they fall,
Like leaves . . . . . .
They are black,
They are grey
They are white;
They are shot through with gold and fire.
They fall,
They fall
Ceaselessly.
They cover me,
They crush,
They smother.
Who will ever find me
Under the days?
One by one, they fall,
Like leaves . . . . . .
They are black,
They are grey
They are white;
They are shot through with gold and fire.
They fall,
They fall
Ceaselessly.
They cover me,
They crush,
They smother.
Who will ever find me
Under the days?
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