Will the Phoenix Rise

In the afternoon
Beneath the pine trees
He rolled his trousers up
And producing a flute
Leapt barefooted about the hillside
Like a faun;
It was very high up
And the town was obscured by falling rain
By rain falling.

In the evening,
Changed now into dry clothes,
He spoke for a long time
Walking to and fro before the fire
Warming himself,
And said that owing to the futility of life
There was nothing left for one to do
But to cultivate one's ego.