Werner Aspenström: 'Hästen'

THE HORSE

The thunder rolls and rumbles on over Hälsingland’s forests,

a flash of lightning strikes now here now there,

and kills in passing a dappled horse

that no stable-boy rides on any longer and no one recalls

and no one mourns – except the spring

in which it used to dip its warm muzzle

and stir among the stars that have lodged in eternity

high over Hälsingland’s forests.