Black candle

It is your fate, for your narrow shoulders to turn red under the lashes,
red under the lashes, to burn in the frost,

for your childish hands to lift the iron,
to lift the iron and tie bundles,

for your tender bare feet to tread on glass,
to tread on glass and on the bloody sand.

And as for me, I burn after you like a black candle,
burn like a black candle and dare not pray.