The box of chocolates is now empty,
The mice though in the corridor are cold,
The air is getting still by the second
The prelude of the night is shivering and bold.
The doors and windows are all closed
The leaves in the lawn make not a sound
The matchsticks are taken out, the candles are ready to burn till the dawn.
The picture on the wall is covered with dust
A minute more till the clock besides strikes again
With scratching sound the broken record comes to rest.
The Owls cry the Hermit is dead
The feathers of all who fly soon come by
The flowing river sings its farewell tune
The night now misses his story telling friend.
The wax has melted down to the cobblestone
No one to clean it anymore
The scriptures fear the unturned page
He lies dead, smiling, waiting to be free from his bodily cage.

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