Do you think you can put me in a basket,
black and tightly woven,
for your own pleasure?
until you have discovered your own particular use?
I stay and I hide, and write this poem.
Man thinks,
he has discovered a secret,
in challenging his bravery to the cunning of the serpent.
the bird of prey waiteth,
the lion meditateth.
the bull thus owneth,
and the man yet knowth.
for without the rings of all,
the bow will not be let loose.
the ship will not set sail.
although you see the full moon shinning through the leaves of the palm trees.
the trees that were built on the shores of the land.
it is the evening, and men play withe serpent,
with the serpent placed in a basket,
tightly woven.
