And gathered in and stored in dense,
Dark granaries for winter feasts;
Slow, kind, uncomprehending beasts
Will eat our words in innocence.
Alone I'll watch through hardened, iced
Winter sun, in that hay-day of
The fallen green of hope and love,
Shivering and unparadised .
Eugene Dubnov
BY CRAMOND SHORE
The Road
The road crosses wet ground,
Raised on a causeway,
Over buried ditches or pits,
Near the spread of grasses and heather,
And wild stones in the unfamiliar field,
Under unending rain,
Through the wet wind,
During the period of dormancy in seeds,
For R. Robertson
On a dark night when months and years are numbered.
The Tide
The tide begins at four,
and at six
the stones are covered with water
and the way to the shore is gone.
And he got up and went
knowing the rightness of the way
where the birds gather
in
the wake of the wind
