Sunday, June 30, 2019

In my eyes grief dissolves;
I ran like a deer;
Tree-gnawing wolves
In my heart followed near.
I left my antlers
A long time ago;
Broken from my temples,
They swing on a bough.
Such I was myself:
A deer I used to be.
I shall be a wolf:
That is what troubles me.
A fine wolf I'm becoming.
Struck by magic, while
All my pack-wolves are foaming,
I stop, and try to smile.
I prick up my ears
As a roe gives her call;
Try to sleep; on my shoulders
Dark mulberry leaves fall.