Live to this day, live as before these stories, legends, tales of yore, old dreams of toil-tired fancy born, like fire-smoke heady, sharp and warm...

The Hourglass

The sand lay still and the sunshine scorched
Its yellow, loose pate, all a shine.
One pinch was soldered in glass with a torch;
Now watch
How the sand measures time.

Not for years-just for minutes 
    the hourglass will run,
Yet time we control within it:
When the sand runs out,
    turn the glass upside down
And the end,
Will become the beginning.

It seems to me,
Too,
    that I am the same:
Towards night, when my energy's 
    on the wane, 
I drop off like dead on a bed or sofa.
Then at dawn I get up,
    hale and hearty again,
As if I had been turned over.

And maybe, our death is similar, too:
Our friends fresh pine-planks prepare,
Yet death simply turns us over anew,
Like an hourglass;
    again year by year runs through,
And we never know wear or tear...