In the evening there was some exquisite music
That flowed smoothly on a silk-soft winter breeze
With a burning torch ahead, duly abetted by oil.

As God went out with his wives on the palanquin, 
A bamboo stick went musical in its circular holes
And a goatskin went into fever long after its death.

The pig-tailed men carried their God on shoulders.
The torch burnt the night till it smelled like flowers.
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