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.