Oh, sorrow is in your heart,
it rises from the land as the mist
after the long, cold rain that
lasted through the spring night.
It gives you images of the days
that were, gloomy spring morns
like this, and of the dawns
that shall not be.
Moose are eating on the fallow
fields in the long morning's mist,
and the regrets of your life
that sight brings flowing back.
On many long morning's like this
there were people on your side,
watching the moose and the deer,
and they have gone to from where
they shall never re-emerge.
The moose, they will come back if
not caught by the hunters' shots
or steel on the breaking asphalt,
but all those people who with
you saw them in the first light
of dawns, slowly fading in the green
forest wall, they will never stand
here on your lonesome side again.
26.04.2023
#Poem #Poems #Poetry #Verse
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