Two worlds draw near each other.
As a burning candle dies
its smoke goes up.
Someone has gone up.
Above the low clouds of gray
the blue sky is also rising...
From naked trees in the mist
golden stars are dangling,
whirling and spinning
in a delicate breeze.
All around the roof edges
of a distant cathedral
there are golden gutters
from which little silver bells are hanging.
Prayers arise for the departed
like clouds of incense--
a free heart has flown away
and we sit sadly listening.
Somewhere, the soul,
like candle smoke,
softly rises into heaven.
It passes by little silver bells
and makes them ring.