Tuesday 13 December 2011

Another poem by Ekelund

Then the beeches were light

Then the beeches were light, then isles of
floating marsh buttercups riddled the river,
light its crown the bird-cherry swayed where I
        roamed as a boy. –

Soundless the rain. The sky hangs low over
barren tree-tops. A whistle: the train starts to
move on again. Toward slowly darkening evening I
        journey friendless.


To see the original poem and comments on it, go to here

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