In the dusk chill winds blow,
over the darkened willows' edge
black the tall pine rises,
memory of the old forest felled.
Comes a brooding shadow, fox,
silently through the years' long grass,
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.
14.06.-01.08.2021
#Poem #Poems #Poetry
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