Shadows
Shadows
Slowly wandering down
From the western woods,
Relentless surf of night,
Wave attack of silence furrow to furrow;
The meadows succumb, the herds
Drift home, before them
The fields conform
And even the beat of the threshing
Gradually ebbs away, for even that
Is overcome by the great poppy flood
Of sleep.
The morning
Was overhung
With mist and smoke.
The earth reeked of open graves,
They are waiting for the year.
Translated by William Stone and Anthony Vivis
Page(s) 52
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