What fanatics invent
In this blind bitter town，
Fantasy or incident
Not worth thinking of，
Put her in a rage.
I had forgiven enough
That had forgiven old age.
All lives that has lived；
So much is certain；
Old sages were not deceived：
Somewhere beyond the curtain
Of distorting days
Lives that lonely thing
That shone before these eyes
Targeted， trod like Spring.