Open-palmed hands formed me out of two substances. My inner core glows white, made of flax, or else shines bright, plundered from a slender rush. But when my outward body bursts into yellow flower, It pours forth, spewing flames, heat and fire As moist tears drop in profusion from my brows. Yet, in this way, I destroy the horrid shadows of night And soon my burned heart leaves behind only ashes. *