Heaven has taken from me the aged master.
Who is there to assist me on the throne?
He died with his sickness oozing through the plaster
and the muscle scarcely visible on the bone.
His spirit rose and departed alone.
“Oh my phoenix, a shadow now spreads between us.
Between you and me there is interposed a third.
Give up your old pursuit, oh my phoenix!
The great bird chooses its tree, not the tree its bird.
The wick is wasting away inside the candle.
I’ll join you on the other side of death.”
Then he closed his eyes and breathed out his final breath.
Disciples, friends whom I address around his bier:
Let us in our grief erect a temple
and let sacrifices be offered through the year.
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