Deliver them from the lion's mouth

in the furrows of the fields,
that no longer bear sweet fruit
bare footed
I wander along the path

              destination unknown

the wind as a comb
plays with the locks
of my breathless hair
and singing our requiem

               lost in the ether

images of beloved faces,
that everyone perhaps
once believed
knew so well

                in the fog disappear

and the melodies of our souls
keep bouncing off the ground
smashing into pieces
the azure sky overhead

               Libera eas de ore Leonis