Here is the smell
of seafood pie
a broken tower
on the open sky
a chain of slands
rolling West
where we are guests
in sight of the house A rambling old river
imprinted on shields
ancient names
twist through the fields
gifts arrive
for a baby girl
at the end of the world
born a queen
Furious music the sound of feet
from an open door
always the wind
beating on a stone flood
of an elder God
always the form
The head of the mountain
hooved and horned
lost in a cloud soft and proud
a country woman
into the bay
for we come to the sea
the horses swirl
at the end of the world.
האתר פועל ברישיון אקו"ם
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