A paper—
it is simply known.

Sometimes it rises,
falls now and then,
striving hard
to fly again
from beginning to end.

Sometimes it dances
like a spindle
and gets no rest, no peace,
feeling lonely in the crowd
on its tired heels.

Sometimes it twists
in pain
and expresses its agony
before the self-loving men,
living in their closed dens.

Sometimes it burns
like coal,
sparks and fades away,
going in the ground,
tilled for the new role.