Be careful of your candles in this wind. It would be a long walk in the dark to where the sun is rising. Don’t flirt with love in shadows. You are so pretty, beauty could describe you only in your death. Stay on the path. Don’t trip; do not laugh. You see you’d burn yourself with the dripping wax. See that the thirsty trees don’t brush your firey limbs. They are greedy for your warmth but it would end them, cold and black.
11 November 1973