Chill winds the dark evening blow,
black over darkened willows'
edge the tall pine rises,
the memory of an old forest felled.
Comes a fox, a brooding shadow
through the years' long grass
hiding the stones gathered
by your departed, calloused hands.
It shall rain cold all through
the short night's midsummer gloom,
the morning in birdsong shivering
over hare's blood in golden light.
14.-15.06.2021
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