The birds fly away

Another card is played

Laces of sea, sunlight and poetic hindsight

For the sailor enough romances

Harlequin faints with the Muse at the dances

The birds fly away

Another card is played

The buffoon's wagon leaves . . . pantomime without end

It seems that we are last . . . yet, for this, we suffer the past

The birds fly away

Another card is played

Somehow I will bid

With what?