How thoughtless of me. The tone of a flute sounds in the valley. And, in the sudden sun I can see the small wooden huts of poverty. My soul has found peace while I rode on horseback full speed towards an unknown goal. At the noisy market place the smells and perfumes combine in an intoxicating composition.
Nothing remains but a name on a stone.
Even the poems he wrote are lost. What a rich life he must have lived to become so wise. Stealing a rose from a bush in the graveyard. Snow in the quiet winternight. The barking of a distant dog deepens the silence.