Bare gravel crunching under
my feet as I walk
under a solitary planet
serenely distant
from earthly woes
on the darkening sky.
Snow when I last walked
here, now this bare gravel
four days later, dead grass
on the field rising
from under the faltering snow.
You could think of spring
coming early, like peace,
here in the bloody-winged of dusk.
But peace is not like spring,
waiting for peace
is like waiting for Godot,
and all the world a stage.
07.03.2026
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