Rotten stone towers sultrily warmed.
Yellow haze of incense hovers.
Bees hum chaotically swarmed
And the flower trellises shake.
Slowly a breath stirs there
By the sun-still walls,
Dwindles glimmering, like a deceit –
Songs for the dead deeply shiver away.
Long it listens after in the green,
Lets the bushes shine brighter;
Brown swarms of mosquitoes spray
Over old tombstones