When they took him down
They wept.
The cross seemed like a bird;
From his wounds myrtle flowed
On to His face, ah, that face,
Yellow fruit between two rows of stars.
Angels came flying down to Him,
White basil flowered for Him.
Angels came down flying down to me,
White basil flowered
On my face, ah, my face,
Yellow fruit between two rows of stars.
The Cross seemed like a bird to me;
From my wounds myrtle was flowing
When they raised me up,
Ah, when they raised me up
They wept.
Nerezi, August 1976