And the candles are melting
Out to the aged parquet.
The rain runs down shoulders
Like silver off epaulets.

In a frenzy there fizzles
The golden champagne.
Let the past fly away,
I’m not one to complain.

In a premortal anguish
with a back-looking glance,
The scared stags bound forward
Toward the deadly advance.

Someone points his long barrel
At the innocent breast...
Let bygones be bygones,
Come what may, if it’s best.

With a heartless abandon
A clever hunter takes aim
With razor-sharp arrows
Into the sunset’s red flame.

In the tempest of sound
A sad note then began.
The past leaps and bounds,
Come what may, if it can.