A man had one love which he kept hidden.
He was dressing it, feeding it, reconciling it
And kept it hidden. One day, it turned winter
and our man has forgotten about his hidden love.
When he remembered it, he rushed with all his might
but it was already frozen and tender eagles were swarming around it. Only
its lips stayed warm and whispered:

“Whoever caressed with love the cheek of the dead
knows that it feels as nothing like when touched. Nor like ice,
Nor like silk, nor like sand.”