That same youth, and these same holes,
And the same nights at the fire …
Sister of your own guitar
Is my divine, holy lyre.
To circle souls just like a snowstorm—
One is the gift that us befalls.
Into my sleeping crib is lowered
This title: Stealer of souls!
Breaking the arms in angst, you know:
Not one alone in the day’s fog
With poison gypsy broth of parting
The young noblemen you do drug.
Know: not alone on the sharp knife
You look with anguish in your blood
Know, I’m alone still … we are sisters
In the great lowliness of love.