High Meadow
The light is low
Is sinking fast
The clouds ring rising night
Circling round the high meadow
Enacting dusky rites
Barn swallows dip both to and fro
To springtime’s mysteries
They fathom well this coded land
And what we’ve come to be
We sing their song
Of breeze of chill
This melody unclear
“If not for meadow’s cadences
The world would have no cheer”
We cry, we laugh
The time’s been cruel
Her discipline iron-bound
The meadow’s but a gorse of green
While dark baits all around
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