Eugene Dubnov(And Friends)
The Plover
A plover whistled shrill above the bay
And meadows by the river’s bank; there blazed
The feathers of her breast in winter sunlight
Making our eyes to narrow as we gazed.
The winter crops were watching while she flew,
The heather carpet called for her returning -
‘Come down!’ we shouted, but in the sun’s radiance
Already now her silhouette was burning.
Translated by Eugene Dubnovand John Heath-Stubbs
Page(s) 65
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