Prick their ears
The fields
Round the graveyard
They have spine
They have not fear.
Few figures
Lank
And
Black
Surge
In the
Dark
Flitting as flies
Do
Restless:
Few figures
Few figures
And
In the cleft between
Night and Dawn
They were signing
A sad requiem:
Sudden
In the midst
They stopped
Dawn was on its way!
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem